


Pieces of Us

by humble_beginnings



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: Actor RPF - Freeform, Actor!Sebastian, Angry Sex, Blood, F/M, Fingering, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kitchen Sex, Marriage, Masturbation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humble_beginnings/pseuds/humble_beginnings
Summary: Tulia Campbell (a Welsh-Italian script supervisor) and Actor Sebastian Stan have been married two years. Both working on film sets they find themselves spending more time apart and away from their New York home than they do together.





	1. Welcome Home

**Tulia**

“Tulia? You here?”

I heard Sebastian’s heavy footsteps, the jingle of his keys as he struggled with bags and tried to find the right one, the grate of it in the lock. Now his voice is quiet, like he’s hoping not to find me in our home.

“In the bedroom,” I call back, continuing to put away clothes on hangers.

“Oh. Hey,” he says, standing in the doorway and setting his bags down against the bedroom wall. “I thought you weren’t back until next week.”

“We finished a little early. Good to see you, too,” I say with a tight smile and a lashing of sarcasm. “How’ve you been?”

“Can we not do this as soon as I walk in the door? Let me at least have a shower before you lay on the guilt.”

“I wasn’t laying on anything. I didn’t realise you were coming home today, perhaps I should have looked on Instagram instead of expecting a call.”

“Like I said, I didn’t think you’d be here. You could have called and said you were coming home early.”

“If you answered your phone occasionally you’d know.”

“Fuck, Tulia! Give it a fucking rest! I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done and everything I will do. I’m sorry our marriage isn’t all you thought it would be. I’m sorry we thought the piece of paper would change anything. I’m sorry for my job and I’m sorry for yours and I’m just so fucking sorry. We done?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just slams the bathroom door behind him and turns on the shower. I used to be upset by our arguing, and the first time he cursed me in anger I immediately burst into tears. Now it’s second nature, I don’t expect anything different. I know I’m not blameless, it takes two to fan the flames while ambitious careers set fire to a loving marriage. It takes two hot-headed lovers to fuel it with anger and wait for the ashes, the proof that it’s really over. We’ve screamed ‘I’m leaving!’ in every iteration more times than either of us can count but somehow we come home to each other the next time and the next, expecting that by some sort of magic the inferno will give rise to the fireworks of those first months together.

I’m in the kitchen when he emerges with his pants slung low around his hips, the band of muscle I love to draw with my tongue on full display.

“I’m sorry, honey,” I say while stirring the pan. “I’m making those spicy meatballs you like.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he says into my ear, pressing against me from behind and nuzzling my neck. “How long are you home?”

“Eight weeks. You?”

“Two.” He pulls back and scrubs a hand over the stubble on his square jaw. “I’m only going to LA, maybe you could come with me for a bit?”

“Seb, I have prep work to do here.”

“Bring it with you.” He’s in full foreplay mode now, licking and nipping at my neck, tugging my shirt down to bare my shoulder so he can taste and trace it with his tongue. “It’s been ages since we got dirty in a trailer.”

“It’s been ages since we had a holiday too, but I don’t get to whine about it.”

He stops bunching up my skirt, his fingers hovering around my knees and his frustrated breath heavy on my back as he hangs his head.

“Let’s go, then. Tomorrow. We have a couple of weeks.”

“I have plans. Meetings. Work. So do you, if I remember correctly.”

“What do you want me to do, huh? Seriously. Name it.”

“I don’t know.” I stir a final time and turn off the cooktop, turning in his arms to face those sapphire eyes I fell in love with. He knows it’s the truth, we both do. There’s not a lot either of us can do at this point, there’s nothing he could do that would make it all right.

There’s always our go-to quick fix, though.

He slants his lips so hard down on me it takes my breath away and I’m a few seconds late to respond to his tongue being thrust between my lips. His hands are still fisted in my skirt and he hoists it around my waist, tugging my panties aside to rub a finger between my folds and groan at my wetness. Sebastian’s touch was always my weakness, and he’s always loved how quickly I moisten in readiness for him. His long fingers are hard on my flesh as he squeezes my cheeks and lifts me onto the bench, forcing my knees upward and around his hips. I push his pants down and guide his erection to me and with one primitive shove he fills me and grunts.

“Fuck I missed you.” He presses his forehead against mine and pierces me with his gaze while making shallow movements inside.

“Me too,” I gasp as he slaps his hips against me.

“Say it. Tell me,” he growls between clenched teeth.

“I missed you, Seb. I missed you so much. Every fucking day.”

In response he grazes his open mouth over my lips while pulling out and rubbing his cock over my clit until I’m rolling my hips against him and desperate for release. My moans elicit a chuckle from his throat before he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks it in over his teeth.

My mind and body no longer need to be connected, I respond without thought like a piece of music performed by muscle memory. He shifts me to the empty island bench and lies me back, thrusting up and inside my core as the square edge digs in to my tail bone. Hooking my ankles over his shoulders he watches my face with intensity burning in his eyes while he maintains an even rhythm until I weave a hand down to my clit and circle it with increasing pressure.

Finally I let go, my disconnected voice crying out my release as my walls contract and work against the merciless thrusts of his cock, and when I’m on the verge of overwhelm he floods me with warmth and lets his weight fall on me, breathing hard and slick with sweat.

And so the wheel turns a full cycle once again. We make small talk over dinner and wine, our latest projects, the weather here in New York or where we’ve been, staying away from anything potentially argumentative like politics or offspring or our relationship. Then we make love long into the night, long enough to feel connected and whole again, long enough to fall in love again.

Digging our own slow, painful grave with plastic spoons because we lack the courage to say the words.

* * *

“Babe, we gotta talk about this before I go. Properly. Like grown ups.”

“Talk about what?” I slur, still blinking sleep from my eyes and wondering how he’s awake so early.

“Us. This fucking rut we’re stuck in. I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“So don’t,” I roll to my stomach and lie my head into his neck, the rest of my bare skin pressed against his side. “Make love, not war, baby.”

“I mean it. I can’t do this anymore.” I kiss his neck and up to his ear, nibbling on the lobe and that extra bit of shell that drives him crazy. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” I purr.

He extracts himself from beneath me and sits up against the headboard.

“Can we just talk, please?”

“Fine.” I pout and lie back on my pillow, tugging the sheet up under my arms. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Can you not see-” he cuts off and sighs, lowering his voice. “Lu, I love you. I always will, you know that. Our marriage isn’t working, I think you know it as well as I do.”

“What am I supposed to do, though? Do you want me to give up my career so you can have yours?”

“I never said that, and I’d never ask that. I don’t know, maybe it’s just not something we can fix. Maybe it’s time to admit it’s beyond repair.”

“Maybe.” After all this time, hearing him say the words is a sadistic kind of relief.

“I mean… you’re not happy, right? We’re both miserable. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”  

“We’re just tearing each other’s hearts out,” I whisper.

“Yeah. I think it’s time we stop, don’t you? Take a break or something.”

“You’re going away again anyway, we spend more time on breaks than we do together.”

“Yeah I know, but… maybe this time we make it an actual break. Like a separation. If we’re happier apart then we’ll know.”

“You think you’ll be happier without me?”

“I dunno, Lu. I can’t imagine-” he stops and shuffles back down to take me in his arms. “Maybe you’ll be happier without me.”

I sniff and shrug him off. “You should finish packing, I’ll go make you breakfast.”


	2. Kiss me Goodbye

## Sebastian

My heart aches at the thought of not hearing her smooth voice every day over the phone, with its unique accent and tendency to escalate from soft to cackling laughter in a split second. I’d know Lu’s voice anywhere, her pristine London English speckled with a vague Welsh accent and the odd Italian exclamation learned from her mother. The first time we met I was staggered by it, the speed at which she spoke and tossed in other languages like a chef mixing a new concoction with 20 mismatched spices made her impossible to understand. But then she turned to introduce herself to me and her articulation shifted completely back to evenly-paced English. Now it’s second nature to me and I love nothing more than her impassioned ranting when she slips in and out of thick Welsh and Italian. She even insisted I teach her a few choice words in Romanian, although I regretted that the first time she used them on me.

I yawn and fill my lungs with the thick steam as the hot water prickles my skin, letting it run over my hair and down my face and body. I’ve barely slept the last few nights, Tulia and I have argued almost every day I’ve been home this time. Usually it gets worse just before one of us leaves or soon after we’re reunited, but the last ten days we’re either fighting or fucking. Sometimes both at once – which is hot, but disturbing.

Honestly I was hoping she’d put up more of a fight, given we’d argue about just about anything right now – yesterday was our most explosive angry sex yet because I put a knife away in the drawer instead of the knife block. I expected her to react rather than shut down and pull away when I wanted to hold her. Actually I expected her to erupt like a volcano of fury, so to get almost no reaction and what I suspect were a few tears has caught me off guard. I need to know the fire is still there, that we can somehow find our way back to the couple who couldn’t go a day without speaking and spent every possible moment together.

I tug on my underwear and jeans, freezing with the fly half way up when I hear a whimper from the kitchen.

“Lu? Tulia?” I call on the way down the stairs.

“Um… give me a minute it’s almost done.”

“You OK?”

“I’m fine.” I catch her swiping under her eyes while stirring scrambled eggs on the stove with the other hand. Moving in behind her I press my bare upper body into her back.

“Babe-”

“I said I’m fine.” She flings my arms off.

This is classic Tulia avoidance, I know it well. She’s pulled on one of my button-down shirts, leaving it open at the front so her gorgeous body is in full view. When she bends to the adjacent cupboard to pull out two plates I can see the crease between her thigh and arse. She lingers an extra second, giving me time to take in the view.

“Babe, look at me.”

As she turns and clears her throat I can see her eyes are pink around the edges. In the entire time we’ve been together I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve known she was crying, but she can never tell me why she insists on hiding it.

“What?”

“Why do you turn away from me?”

“I’m not the one turning away.”

She returns her attention to the stove, serving eggs, bacon, and tomatoes onto both plates. And the standoff begins.

We eat almost in silence, and in a matter of minutes she’s back at the sink washing up the frying pan. She eats so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t have constant indigestion, but then she only eats half of what I do. In the beginning she at least used to wait for me to finish.

I wish with everything I’ve got that I could fix this. Fix us. I can’t give her what she needs, even if I knew what that was I doubt she’d let me. Finishing up and washing it down with black coffee, I watch her move around the kitchen and decide to give her the only thing I can, connect with her the only way I know how.

Standing behind her I slip the shirt off her shoulder and kiss down from her neck, holding her short dark hair aside. She worried initially that I’d hate it, knowing I’d always loved the way her hair flowed down her back like molten dark chocolate and fell into my face when she was on top of me. I love it, though. The way it still feels like silk through my fingers and her whimper when I tug gently on the ends at her nape.

As the lavender cotton pools at her feet I caress her breasts with both hands, feeling their weight in my palms while my lips record every contour of her shoulders and collar bones. Her head lolls back against me and her mouth falls open, her hand coming up to my face and scratching gently at the stubble on my jaw.

I snake one hand down her soft stomach and between her thighs, wishing I could take more time to warm her up properly.

“I only have a few minutes,” I whisper, biting her ear.

“Hard and fast, then,” she coos, pushing her arse back against the bulge in my jeans. Her delicate hands find my button and zipper, pushing the denim down my legs until my cock stands and slaps against her cheeks.

Without instruction she leans forward over the sink and uses a hand to part her lower lips for me. I can feel the heat from her sex and I coat the tip in her juices to spread them around and tease her clit. She moans and grinds against me, notching my cock just inside so I can fill her in one smooth movement. I immediately feel her fingers circling her clit and I give her a few long deep thrusts until she starts to rock against me.

“Fuck me hard, baby.”

“God, you make me so…” I can only end with a groan as she tightens her muscles and grips me, pulling me further inside. So many ways I could finish the thought – hot, furious, turned on. I wish happy was the first word that came to mind.

My hips slap hard into her and I hold her hips while my thumbs knead and separate her cheeks. As her fingers trill against her bud they occasionally graze my cock, fluttering against the sensitive skin while I drive it home over and over. Her moans turn to piercing, desperate cries as she convulses, screaming out her climax and turning limp so I have to support most of her weight.

Deep in my belly something snaps and I explode inside her, pumping cum into her depths as my head butts her cervix. Unable to hold our combined weight on my shaking legs I let my legs fold beneath me and pull her down into my lap, turning her so her cheek rests against my chest.

“I love you, Tulia. I do.”

“I know, baby. I love you, too. What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

Wait another round, I guess. One more ride on the rollercoaster, and maybe this time it won’t make us both sick.


	3. Time of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loose translations for the Italian phrases are in brackets, if I've made an errors in this please let me know! My Italian is very rusty!

##  **Tulia**

 

“I’m here, settling in to our usual place,” he says through the phone. We always rent the same apartment in LA, right on Venice Beach. We’ve even been there together a few times, before we were married.

“How’s the beach?”

“Crystal clear and very inviting, I’ll head down later and let you know how warm it is.”

_Why? So you can rub it in my face?_

“Were you serious about this separation thing?”

“Yeah, I think so, unless you’ve got a better idea. We can agree it’s not working, right? You’re so- we’re both so angry. I feel like we can end it now or we can keep fighting until we’ve beaten each other to death. Maybe we should call time before it gets nasty, I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I wish things were different.”

“So do I, but do you even know what you want from me? That’s a genuine question, Lu. Because I have no idea what I want from you anymore.”

_I want you to give me that look across the room, the one that reminds me I’m yours and we can’t live without each other. I want you to come home early and surprise me and I want to be as excited by that as I was in the beginning. I want the fireworks back, for both of us._

“You’re right, I don’t. Call it.”

He clears his throat, and I think he’s being dramatic until I hear the shake in his voice. 

“Time of death 17:54.” I half expect him to laugh at his own reference, but there’s only silence.

“What now?” I whisper.

“I’ll come back in a few weeks and get my things moved into storage. You keep the house, we’ll sort the rest later.”

“Can you wait until I’m gone, I don’t want to be here when you… move out.”

“Of course. I’ll only take personal stuff, the rest is yours.”

“Ok. I have to go, so I guess… Goodbye, Sebastian.”

“I’ll always love you, Tulia.”

I want to say it back, but the words get stuck in my swollen throat.

* * *

* * *

I always imagined the end would be emotional, hysterical screaming and insults hurled like rocks until we were both satisfied the other was the most hurt. I expected a catatonic shell of my former self to remain staring at the front door and offering my soul to satan if he’d just return my beloved husband for one more try.

Instead there is a low-frequency hum of melancholy beneath my every emotion. I can still feel hope for the future and a glimpse of happiness when I see it in a loved one, but it’s hollow at the core.

For weeks we’ve communicated by the occasional text and I’ve packed up a lot of things for him to keep my hands busy. Things I knew he’d leave if I didn’t pack them, and I’d rather not have every single sentimental piece left behind. At the very least the pain should burden us both equally. His publicist has contacted me with a proposed statement to release to the media, kindly informing me that it won’t happen until I’m in Italy. She also asked if I’d like some form of representation separately to Seb, and that question is still bugging me.

I never imagined we’d get here, never entertained the thought that every time one of us threatened to leave might be the time it actually happened. But now I’m facing the possibility of being forever branded ‘Sebastian Stan’s ex wife’ and for all I’ve learned about the media along the way it might be time to have someone take care of it for me. My wonderful script assistant Anna – who also happens to be my best friend – might have a role expansion in her immediate future. She loves that stuff.

In the three years since we first met I’ve only done two small projects without her. I’m sure she’s psychic because half the time when I ask her to do something she’s already done it, and she voices my opinion often before I do. She’s not afraid to give me shit, and I’m no pushover but she’s far more outspoken than I am. On more than one occasion she’s done my dirty work for me when I needed her to, and no one gets angry with Anna for bossing them around like they do with me.

She arrives from Florida the day before we fly out, helping me finish off the packing.

“You guys are really done?” she says, looking up at a huge canvas print from our wedding. We’re in front of one of the towering arched windows in the Orangery in Kew Gardens with the sun glinting through to one side. It was a candid moment where we were laughing about him fumbling and dropping my ring and the way we’re looking at each other is just perfection. It was a one in a million shot and our favourite photo of the hundreds that were taken that afternoon.

“Should I take that down? I mean, when do we take down the photos and take these off?” I hold out my hand and shift my engagement ring back to the centre of my finger so it catches the light and sparkles a blinding rainbow into my eyes.

“I don’t know, hon. When you’re ready I guess. You sure about this?”

I shake my head. “We’re not happy, though. All we do is fight. Everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Yep. It’s all at the door ready to go. Are you doing OK? Really?”

“I don’t know. It’s weird to think when I come home he won’t be here anymore. And it’s stupid that I love him when he’s not here and despise him as soon as he comes through the door. I know we’re doing the right thing it just doesn’t feel right, y’know?”

“Yeah. I wish I could fix it for you.”

_So do I, Anna. I wish someone could._

* * *

* * *

We’ve no choice but to hit the ground running when we arrive in Naples, and I love every second of it. Pressure is like a drug to me, a stimulation I can’t succeed without. It took me a long time to learn to delegate to Anna and not micromanage her or do everything myself but I’m proud to say we’re a well-oiled machine now and known as one of the best in the business. The first few weeks fly by and as always I’m completely absorbed in work with no time for anything else; i’s the best thing I can do if I want to shut everything else out.

Yes, I am aware that’s probably not healthy. But it works for me.

It’s the end of a long week – Anna and I both work all day Saturday until 5pm and then we’re off the clock until Monday morning. Even though we’re not filming on the weekend the script changes and recording every little detail from the scenes we’ve shot to prevent continuity errors takes time, and if it’s not needed for the following day we pile it up until Saturday morning. In the afternoon I notice a list of missed calls from Seb and while I’m considering whether to call him back it rings in my hand.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Lu.” If I close my eyes I can see him in my mind, every gesture and facial expression. Right now he’s scrubbing his hand over his stubble. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“What’s up?”

“I really just wanted to make sure you’re doing OK.”

“I’m good, we’re working.”

“I know, I didn’t mean to interrupt I just wanted to check in and-”

“Seb, I’m trying not to be short with you but I’m not your problem anymore. I have work to do, so if there’s nothing else…”

“Tulia, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Yeah. It does. If we’re going to do this we can’t just keep talking like nothing’s happened.”

“All right,” he sighs heavily. “The statement goes out tomorrow, I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Thank you for letting me know.”

“I, um… I’m at home. Just grabbing some things. Thanks for packing up for me, you didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome, I thought if I didn’t give you some of our shared stuff I’d end up with all of it and that wasn’t fair. Anything you need, take it. I can replace it.”

Anna is in front of me with her hands on her hips, giving me a sharp frown. She wants me to make nice but if I let myself assume there’s hope for us… we’re doing this to get out of a rut, and I’m not going to be the one left behind.

“I’ll do that. I’m sorry, Lu.”

“I know. Me too.”

I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed beside me.

“Where were we?” I ask Anna.

“What was that about?”

“The press release goes out tomorrow, that’s all. So nothing’s changed in this scene?” I hold up my notes in an attempt to get her to focus. “Nothing?”

“A couple of minor things. We’re not done talking about this, Tulia. You need to blow off some steam before you explode.”

That night she drags me out for cocktails – and I mean that quite literally – apparently to loosen me up. Really I think she’s dragging me along because I speak Italian, but she keeps supplying me with fresh cocktails so I’ve given up feeling used.

And then, we dance.

Seb and I would dance on the odd occasion where we were out together and had a few drinks, sometimes at a ball or official event where people were dancing. I usually took a bit of convincing and pretended I was doing it under duress, but I loved that it brought out his fun side and I felt like his princess when he twirled me around the floor. Damn, that man has moves, and he’s the perfect leader.

Anna is leggy, blonde, and gorgeous, and never fails to attract male attention. She’s tried to ignore one in particular but my feet are about to give out so I start nudging her in his direction.

“Vuole ballare con me?” he asks. Anna gives me the ‘help?’ look.

“He’s asking if you’d like to dance,” I whisper. “She’d love to.”

“Don’t go away, I’m going to need your translation skills!” she hisses.

“Parla Inglese, remember?”

“Par- parla Inglese?” she asks. [Do you speak English?]

“Si, yes. A little.”

“See, you’ll be fine.” I pat her shoulder. “Come si chiama?” [What is your name?]

“Antonio,” he says with a smile to Anna.

“Antonio, this is Anna. You kids have fun.”

Relishing the opportunity to rest my legs and have another drink, I watch them dance around the twenty or so other people on the dance floor. I think we’ve found the quietest bar in town, and it’s just what I needed. By the time I find the bottom of my glass they’re laughing and chatting animatedly, although I’m not sure she understands his broken English any better than he understands her limited Italian.

“Scusi, è occupato?” a man’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. [Is this seat taken?]

“No. Prego, si accomodi.” [Please, sit down] I pull the chair out and watch his tall lean body sink into the chair. He has dark hair and olive skin with striking green eyes, I recognise him as Carlo; one of the set designers we’ve been working with.

“Parla italiano molto bene, di dove sei?” [You speak Italian very well, where are you from?]

“Eh… sono nato a Galles, sono crescuito a Londra, abito ad New York. Mia mamma è Italiana.” [I was born in Wales, grew up in London, I live in New York. My mum is Italian.]

“Wow,” he says with a laugh.

“Parli Inglese?”

“Si, yes. I just heard you translating for Antonio and wondered how good your Italian was.”

“Did I pass?”

“Yes, with flying colours. Antonio is my brother, he’s taken a liking to your Anna.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Another drink? È il mio turno.” [it’s my shout]

“White wine, please.”

I can’t help but watch Anna and Antonio’s hands all over each other while I wait for him to return, and I’m glad we’re in separate hotel rooms even if they are adjoining. Nice for one of us to be getting some action.

“Your husband isn’t with you?” He gestures at the rings on my hand when I pick up my wine glass. I’ve tried taking them off, but I feel naked without them and even when I’ve made a conscious effort I just put them back on out of habit.

“No, he’s not. He’s filming in Los Angeles.”

“That’s right, I forgot you’re married to an actor. Marvel films, yes?”

“Yeah. Actually… we’re separated, I just haven’t taken the rings off yet.”

“That’s too bad. Show business is so difficult on relationships.”

I nod in agreement, but if I’m honest it was probably the business that kept us together so long. Maybe the cracks would have shown earlier if we’d been together all of the time.

* * *

* * *

5am Monday we’re running along the water although it’s the last thing I feel like doing. Usually when I go out drinking I’m more mindful of our image and people watching so I don’t have as much as I did on Saturday night, and even now everything feels a bit igum ogum. The tabloids have started up now that Sebastian has released a formal statement, citing work pressures as the reason for our separation. Of course, ‘Heartthrob Sebastian Stan and producer wife call it quits after two years of marriage’ sells better, as does the apparent ‘inside story’ that I was jealous of his fame or he couldn’t handle me having more work than him. And then there’s the suggested ‘replacements’ the magazines are intent on printing, with their bikini-clad photos and red-carpet smiles.

“They’re hilarious,” I said to Anna yesterday. “It’s a fucking joke. They could at least get my job right!”

“You know better than to read that shit,” she said, snatching the ipad from my hand. Since then she’s been reading them aloud to me from her phone. ‘Seb’s heartbreak over Tulia’s tunnel vision’, ‘Sebastian walks out on money-hungry wife’, ‘It’s me or your job’ have been some of the most memorable, and I’m yet to see one that doesn’t make me the bad guy.

“He’s apparently lunching with a mysterious blonde this week. Which is outside his type – oh he has a type now, and basically it’s you – but she’s just what he needs as a rebound. His type is average height with big boobs and amazing pins, in case you were wondering. And brunette, obviously. He likes long hair?”

“That must be what ruined us,” I groan and comb my fingers through my jaw-length locks. “I cut my hair. Can we put it away now?”

“It’s not a joke any more, huh?”

“No. At first it was a relief, it had been coming so long and we were so angry, but now… it just hurts. He’s my husband, Anna. I can’t just turn it off.”

“You should have a holiday, take off for a weekend or something. Go home for a bit.”

“I was home. That’s exactly where I don’t want to go.”

“I meant go see your mum in London.”

“So she can tell me I’m too much like my father? No thanks.” My father is a domineering Welshman whom I haven’t seen since our wedding, and before that it had been at least five years. He and mum have been divorced since I was a teenager and I still wonder why she didn’t return to Italy when that happened. As a cinematographer he travelled the world, mostly with mum and I in tow; she is a bestselling crime novellist who can – and did – work anywhere she could take a laptop.

Her advice when I told her Sebastian had moved out was to get a good lawyer and not get screwed over. I was always too something for them – too stubborn, too headstrong, too ambitious. Mum thinks it should be me to back off the accelerator and take a break from work to repair my marriage, and I get the impression dad would say I should be less focused on advancing my career and more on conceiving children at this point. A man has certain expectations going in to a marriage, and his wife should meet them as a priority.

They’re both well aware what I think of their opinion, which is why I don’t see them often and our phone conversations are always mercifully short.

“Have some time on your own, then. We’re in fucking Italy in summer, Tulia. Another five weeks and we’ll be done working, and I’m taking you on a holiday.”

“If you keep dragging me out on weekends I’m going to need a holiday to get over it,” I laugh. “Have you heard from Antonio?”

“Not since breakfast,” she giggles like a teenager. “If I don’t I’m not worried. We had fun.”

Maybe I just need to get laid.


	4. Up and Out

**Sebastian**

With every box of my belongings I wonder; did we try hard enough? Is there a way I could have fixed this? How can I be doing the right thing if it hurts so much?

At short notice a friend of ours has offered to keep my things in his spare room until I can find a place to stay, given I’m not due home for an extended period for a few months it seems pointless to go looking now. I was hoping not to get caught putting boxes into his car but I know there are photographers across the street, at this point I’m too exhausted to care. Either way it will all be out in the open tomorrow and I’ll be back at work.

I take one last look around for anything I should take with me, anything she might not want left behind. For all our fights and faults, I can’t imagine home being anywhere else and I don’t think I’ll ever feel at home somewhere that doesn’t have Tulia’s scent. In the bedroom I walk through the wardrobe to check our bathroom and it’s like I’ve walked through a cloud of her favourite perfume, like she was just here a second ago getting ready for work or a night out.

“Vera Wang Princess, for my Princess,” I whisper, recalling the first Valentine’s we spent together when I gave it to her. I’d exploded into giggles every time I looked at it or said the name for weeks, and she’d slap my chest and chide my immaturity before joining in; Wang jokes never get old. From that day on she never wore any other perfume.

Locking up for the last time I hold the key in my hand and wonder if I should just slide it under the door. The spiteful little voice in my head says to just do it, make her know that it’s over and let her be reminded as soon as she comes home and sees it lying there, ram home the point that I’m not coming back.

She’s my wife, though. For better or worse until we’re divorced, I guess. She might need something and a big part of me would love for her to call and say she needs me, even if it’s only to find an important document or medication in the house. Her medical issues have never seemed to bother her, she just layed it all out for me matter-of-factly and told me not to be alarmed if I bruise her easily. Sometimes I wish she’d leaned on me just a little, told me it bothered her, let me soothe her when she was in pain.

I thread it back onto my keyring and shove them into my pocket, holding onto the hope that I’ll get that call before it’s too late.

 

I feel like I’m stuck in some weird limbo-land, where I’m no longer married but I’m not really single, either. Knowing Tulia is away working in Italy and the house is empty it’s easy to forget that officially we’re separated; having an ocean between us is situation normal, it always has been. “It will probably hit you like a ton of bricks when she starts seeing someone new,” Chris said a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to hit him with said ton of bricks for even suggesting it.

My own thoughts carry me away as they so often do, relaxing in my trailer with an iced coffee while I wait for costumes to call for me. I miss her, and I wonder how it all went so wrong so quickly when everything was so perfect in the beginning. I hate nothing more than being wrong, and I was so sure we were meant to be together. We’ve both turned so angry, so spiteful toward one another, even though my heart aches when we’re apart and I believe hers does, too.

The craving in the pit of my stomach for some human touch is increasingly difficult to ignore;  filming a romantic drama filled with love scenes and angst doesn’t make it any easier. I remember the first time Tulia and I met, working together on one of my first films as a lead and her first as script supervisor for the main unit. It was only three weeks in when the tension became too much, I took her on the couch in my trailer while everyone else broke for lunch.

We didn’t even have time to take our clothes off, I had her pinned against the wall as soon as the door was latched, her long skirt hoisted up and panties around her ankles in a matter of seconds. I’ll never forget that first time I touched her intimately, how wet she was already and how she mewled when I fluttered my fingertips over her heat. By the time I retrieved a condom from my bag she was spread on the couch, tugging me to her while she unfastened my pants and dropped them to my knees, my erection springing proudly to greet her plump lips. When she kissed and licked around the head I had to stop her to roll on the condom otherwise I’d have painted her face with cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

There was nothing sweet or gentle about it, we fucked hard and fast like feral animals, biting and clawing at each other in a gasping race to orgasm, and for days she had to choose her clothes carefully to cover the marks I’d left on her skin.

And then I pulled back to discard the condom and saw her rosy cheeks and glazed eyes as though I hadn’t really seen her before, and I knew she was the one. I kissed her slowly, tenderly like she was a dream who might disappear at any second, and finally found the courage to invite her out to dinner.

A knock on the door startles me from my daydream.

“Sebastian? It’s Michelle.”

“Come in, it’s open.” I realise almost too late I have an obvious erection to be slipped back into the leg of my jeans and I’m still adjusting myself when she appears in the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Bored,” she says, flopping down next to me. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting. You nervous about this afternoon?” I ask, referring to a particularly racy sex scene we’re filming today.

“Not nervous, but it is going to be awkward, right?”

Michelle and I have known one another for years and worked together before, playing a brother and sister. At 5’2” what she lacks in stature she makes up for in attitude and she’s well known for being fearless in her work, never knocking back a request that tests her character. We also had a short fling when we first worked together, both of us struggling to make it work in LA and looking for the comfort of someone else’s bed. Now I consider her a good friend, one I don’t see often enough. She sweeps her long, straight, honey-coloured hair behind her shoulders, the ends falling just below her exposed shoulder blades.

“Just don’t fuck it up and we’ll get it done in one take.”

“If you’ll pardon the pun?” She laughs.

“This is meant to get a bit rough, anything you’re not cool with?”

“Not that I can think of. Be gentle with my nipples, though. They’re really sensitive.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m really sorry to hear about you and Tulia.”

“Thanks. It’s all a bit weird right now.”

“I’ll bet. You guys were like a legend, no one had any idea it wasn’t working out.”

“Neither did we,” I say quietly.

“So is it really over? Permanently?”

“I dunno. We just can’t see any way forward, we’re hardly ever home and when we are all we do is fight about stupid shit. I think that’s because neither of us want to admit we hate being apart, but maybe we’re just not meant to be together.”

She puts a warm hand on my thigh and squeezes gently, giving me a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks.”

“Sebastian?” I hear someone call from outside. “They’re ready for you.”

***

I’d rather film ten violent fight scenes than one sex scene.

Michelle having seen me naked before doesn’t make it even remotely less awkward. Being maneuvered around like puppets while the cameras try to get the right angle with a sock covering my dick just isn’t my idea of fun or sexy. When we’re done undulating like worms on hot pavement I just about bolt for the shower to wash off the oil that was sprayed all over our bare skin, making the entire exercise all the more difficult.

Flicking through some rewrites for tomorrow with a towel around my hips and my hair dripping on my shoulders, I sigh at the intrusion when there’s a soft knock on the window. This late in the afternoon I figured everyone else had gone.

“Seb, you decent?”

Michelle.

“Not really. What’s up?”

“We’re heading out for dinner, I thought you might like to join us.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Yeah, Ok. We’ll be at the usual place around the corner if you decide to come. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“OK.”

I could just wallow another night at home with a chicken salad, and that actually sounds quite appealing. Not great for my mental state, but appealing nonetheless.

The fact our three minute love scene took almost two hours to film has left me in a foul mood and I honestly don’t know whether I need to drink myself into oblivion or properly get laid. Perhaps both. Either one will cost me a world of pain tomorrow, and I’m not sure I care.

***

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Michelle says when I sit down beside her.

“Yeah well, there’s only so much of my own company I can stand.”

“I hear you. Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance, Chelle. You know that.”

“Tonight you do, get up.”

She tugs at my arm until I stand just to avoid making a scene, and the next thing I know I’m drenched in sweat and breathing hard while we wait to be served another round at the bar.

“OK, that wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” I chuckle.

“Stick around, Sebby. I’m full of bad ideas.”

The rest of the evening follows the same cycle of drink-dance-drink until the drinks are cut off and the dancing turns into a blur of limbs and heavy breathing. I have to work tomorrow, we both do. Worse, we have to work together. This is by far the worst of all the bad ideas either of us could have had.

Like I said, I’m not sure I have enough feeling left to care.


	5. Numb is good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: potential triggers in this chapter, proceed with caution. It’s a doozy, I’m sorry. Tulia and Seb will find their way back, I promise. Blood, rape, bruising are all mentioned (not described in detail).

**Tulia  
** This film has an incredibly tight schedule when compared to big Hollywood films, in part because we’re shooting entirely on location. The Director is a good friend, someone I’ve worked with on so many films I’ve lost count. When a production team have worked together before everything is familiar and easy, we understand each other’s shorthand and preferences and things go smoothly. **  
**

Now that we’re approaching the half way point I’m looking forward to the end, the long hours are starting to take their toll and we’re struggling to get through our workload and still have enough down time. Anna and I have booked five days of relaxation immediately following the shoot and it’s the first holiday I’ve had in years, a well-earned one at that. This morning when I took my sunglasses off I caught her wincing at the bags beneath my eyes, caused not only by too much work but me being unable to sleep when I should be.

“You’re not sleeping, are you?” she says knowingly. Right on cue Dominic the director and Patrick the director of photography rush through the door to get their coffee before we start the day.

“Tulia. Anna,” Dom says with a nod toward each of us. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My eyes shoot daggers at Anna for saying anything within earshot of him.

“You tell me if you need a break, yeah?”

“I will, Dom. Thanks.”

“Drinks tonight for Isaac’s birthday, you guys in?” Patrick says, leaning against the door with his coffee. His work is brilliant, no one would argue with that. The problem is he knows it, and being nominated for an Oscar last year only made his ego all the more unbearable. Tall, blond, and tanned with striking green eyes he has no problem keeping women’s attention either, until they see how arrogant he is. Isaac is another long-time colleague and a well-known lighting director.

“Sure,” Anna says, pulling out her phone. I already know she’s texting Antonio to invite him and I make a mental note to tease her about it later. In the time I’ve known her she’s only had one serious relationship that ended pretty badly when he had an affair, other than that it’s just been the odd short fling. It’s nice seeing her all blushing and fawning over a man. Her phone rings and she darts outside to take the call, leaving Patrick and I alone when Dom follows.

“Is it true?” he asks suddenly. “Sebastian couldn’t handle you being more in demand and working so much?”

“I’m sure you know better than to believe everything you read.”

“Ah, but you didn’t answer the question. A lot of men don’t think women should be the breadwinner.”

“Patrick, I assure you Sebastian has no problem with my work. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.”

“Better off without him if you ask me.”

 _I didn’t ask you,_ I bite back.

“I don’t know about that. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Maybe not, but I can tell you’re not suited to marriage. You’re too independent and spirited, too ambitious. You shouldn’t be held down.”

The man thinks that because he has good photographic instincts he can read people and know things about them they don’t know about themselves, and it drives me insane. He also seems to think that no woman is immune to his charms, that he can get anyone he wants in to bed. Unfortunately that often proves right and feeds his repulsive monster ego.

“I’d better go get set up, we have a film to make.”

“I’ll look forward to buying you a drink tonight.”

Blech.

“Sure.”

* * *

“So, Tulia,” Patrick says that night. I’m on my third glass of wine, but it’s not improving my mood. “What exactly is your plan?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re the best, everyone who knows what they’re doing wants to work with you. You can’t keep working like this all the time, though.”

My plan was to get to this point where I can pick and choose and then arrange my projects around Sebastian’s so we could spend more time together. Now it’s to spend as little time at home as possible.

“I love to work, I love what I do. Who’d turn down the opportunity to travel and do a job they love?”

“Anna says you’re not sleeping, though. You’ll burn out pretty fast if you keep this up. Especially alone, with no one to go home to.”

“I’m fine, she made an incorrect assumption. And whether I’m married or single has nothing to do with anything.”

“Aren’t you lonely, though? Don’t you just crave the touch of a man?”

Patrick leans into me and uses a low voice that he probably thinks is sexy. Odds are it’s worked for him in the past, and whether or not he’s right has no bearing on our conversation. From the smell of him he’s had at least as many drinks as I have.

“No and no. Would you excuse me?”

I ease through the crowd until I find Isaac and Dom, hoping they might put two large bodies between me and Patrick.

“Hey!” Isaac picks me up off my feet and twirls me around. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Bailed up, not hiding.” I shudder. “Happy birthday, mate.”

“Thanks, gorgeous. Grab a shot, we’re toasting.” He gestures to a tray of shot glasses on the table in front of him, filled with clear a liqueur I recognise when I sniff it; the familiar aniseed of Sambuca.

I shake my head. “I’ll leave the shots to you.”

“C’mon, Tulia. When in Rome…”

“Firstly, we’re in Naples. Secondly, that is not the way Italians drink Sambuca.”

“Thirdly, take the shot,” he butts in and puts one in my hand. “By order of the birthday boy.”

“This is gonna end badly,” I mumble before the thick clear drink is burning down to my stomach.

Sambuca and I are well acquainted and the first three shots go down easily before Anna makes an attempt to take me home.

“Sweetie, I’m fine. Honestly. I not even really drunk yet, I’m just in that groovy bit where everything’s kinda numb. Numb is good.”

“Tulia, Antonio wants to take me home,” she says through a gritted-teeth smile. “I can’t leave you here in this state. Come with us, please?”

“Dom and Isaac will take care of me, I promise. Right?”

Dom turns and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Anna, I’ll personally walk her to the door. You know I’d never let anything happen to her.”

“All right,” she concedes. “Call me if you need me, I can come back for you.”

Before she turns to walk away there’s another shot in my hand, and it’s the last one I remember drinking.

***

* * *

“Wake up, sleeping beauty. No rest for the sore and sorry, we have work to do.”

I grumble my protest at Anna’s chirruping. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. You’ve had your lie-in, let’s go.”

She tugs the covers off me and gasps before tossing them back on.

“Jesus Christ you’re naked.”

“Shit.” I scrub a hand over my face and stretch my aching joints before I scoot toward the bathroom. My mouth is filled with an unpleasant but familiar coppery taste and dread washes over me.

I turn the tap and get my first look at my rather ghastly face in the mirror. The first thing I notice after the mascara beneath my eyes – which is almost the same shade as the dark bags – is the dried blood around my nose, and even as I wash my face and hair in the shower I know I’ll be needing the emergency kit from my handbag. When I pick up my top from last night off the floor the front is covered in dark red blood, obviously last night was a bad one. Nose bleeds are an unfortunate part of life for me, they go hand-in-hand with the bruises to make me look like a well-worn junkie if I’m not careful.

Over the many years since I was diagnosed with this very glamorous blood disorder I’ve learned to manage it well; checking in with my hematologist every time I’m home, carrying supplies to deal with nose bleeds and cuts, having the best makeup on hand to cover that spot where I tried to rub away a headache and instead left a bruise all over my forehead, staying on the pill to manage my periods. Every time this happens I’m indebted to the ER doctor in Mexico who slipped me two vials of cocaine so I didn’t have to visit the hospital every time and explain that Seb wasn’t beating me. True story: a small amount of cocaine will usually slow or stop a bleeding nose. It’s a shame it’s so diluted I don’t get the high, because if I have to fill my nose with tampons soaked in coke in would be nice to not give a shit. It’s also impossible to get outside a hospital or medical facility, unless you’re real nice to the right doctor in a hospital that’s a bit lax with the rules.

My brain is trying to hammer its way out through the front of my skull and my thoughts are scrambled, and I only grow more confused as I wash my body in the shower. I have bruises and painful joints everywhere, which isn’t entirely uncommon if I’ve had a big night – I’m a klutz with a blood disorder who bruises easily – but I know something is really wrong when the soap stings between my thighs. Feeling gently with my fingertips the entire area is swollen and tender like it might be after a round of rough, angry sex with Seb. Only Seb isn’t here, and the inflammation is amplified as though we’ve been at it all night.

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself as I stumble out of the shower, a drip of blood from my nose falling onto my chest. “Anna! I need the emergency kit from my bag.”

She bursts in a few seconds later. “What’s happened?”

“Just a nose bleed,” I lie, not wanting to think about the rest just yet.

She’s well trained and already rolling gauze in the appropriate solutions before handing them to me. Anyone with anxiety around blood tends to gravitate right away from me so I’m incredibly fortunate Anna is not one of those people, and she has no problem cleaning me up after a bloody nose or telling me when I’m showing off an inappropriate welt. God love her, she’s brought in a long dress and underwear for me as well and once I’m gauzed up enough to start nose-job rumours she leaves me in peace to get dressed.

“Did you take your meds yesterday?” she asks when I emerge, handing me a glass of water and my daily medications along with two painkillers.

“Yes, mum. Thank you.” I swallow them in one hit while she makes coffee, but I grimace when I sit on the stool at the bench. “What time did I get in?” She looks up at me and I think she intends to frown at my memory loss, but it’s hard to take a woman seriously with gauze protruding from her nostrils and instead she giggles.

“Um… I don’t know. I was with Antonio at his apartment until this morning.”

“Oh, I see. Shacking up together now?”

“It was just closer to the club. So you don’t remember coming home?”

“No,” I say sheepishly. “I remember one last shot when you were leaving and that’s all. Obviously Dom got me home safe, though.”

My entire vulva is now throbbing painfully, and I’m starting to wonder if I did a little self-release when I got home and was a bit rough with the rabbit, but when I check it’s still tucked away in my suitcase. If I didn’t bother with clothes, I’d hardly bother with cleaning and drying it to put it back so neatly. Perhaps a fingernail cut – which I’m embarrassed to say both Seb and I have done in the past – but they’ve never been this painful.

“Remember that time on Grey’s Anatomy when Addison got Poison Oak on her lady bits?” Anna laughs. “Maybe you went out for a walk?”

“And squatted over a poison oak in the middle of Naples?” I roll my eyes. “I think I’m gonna have to find a medical centre or something before I can’t walk.”

To add to the humiliation of the day I discover more pink blood on my sheets, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t come from my nose. I apologise profusely to the maid when she comes to make the bed; she insists it’s not a problem and changes them while we work, but I keep looking over apologetically.

“Fell out of the sheets,” she says before she leaves, handing me a silver chain with a St Christopher medallion on it. The chain is broken in the middle, two of the links stretched open as though it’s been yanked forcefully from the wearer’s neck.

“Oh. That’s not mine.” She shrugs and walks away while Anna takes it from my hand.

“Definitely not yours. Too masculine. Seb’s?”

“He has one but it’s gold and it lives in his backpack. I’d guess it was whoever used those sheets last time and it went through the wash.”

Anna doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sure I’ve seen that before.”

The necklace is forgotten as the day wears on and we get through as much work as we can before my appointment late in the afternoon. Anna waits in the waiting room because I’d just spend the whole time translating; the doctor speaks very little English and Anna’s Italian is abysmal even though she seems to communicate just fine with Antonio.

Probably because they use their bodies rather than words.

I tell her about my condition (thank goodness von Willebrand disease doesn’t require translation) and medication and she checks me all over with the odd sympathetic frown at the bruises, focusing for some time on a particular one over my collarbone that’s quite painful. My shrug and explanation that I’m naturally clumsy doesn’t seem to satisfy her, and then she asks to see the business end.

Frankly I’d sooner just put up with it, but I know from experience that you don’t want to be stuck in a foreign country with a serious medical problem. Aside from the cost there’s all sorts of back and forth with my doctor back home and my hematologist, I’m hoping by getting it looked at now I’ll be out of here with a cream or something and back to normal by Monday.

She leaves the room for a moment – which is lovely when my legs are in stirrups and my coochie’s hanging out in the breeze – and returns with another woman.

“Hello Tulia, I’m Rose. I’m a nurse here,” she says with an obvious British accent.

“You’re here to translate?”

“Yes. Doctor Angela didn’t want to take any chances with a misunderstanding. She has some questions she’d like me to ask and they’re quite personal.” She waits for me to nod before continuing. “When did you last have sex?”

“Um… a few weeks ago. Before I left London.”

“No, no,” Angela shakes her head.

“Any kind of sexual contact,” Rose says. “Including masturbation.”

“Yeah, a few weeks ago. Why?”

They mumble in Italian and it’s so low and fast I can only make out the occasional word.

“You had a bit to drink last night, do you remember coming home?”

“No, but I’d remember having sex and I woke up alone.” My heart is starting to race, the concerned looks on their faces make me uneasy.

“Is there a chance you might have been assaulted? Sexually?”

“N-no. No. I wasn’t that drunk!”

I take my feet from the stirrups and sit up, tugging the gown around me and suddenly feeling way too exposed.

“Ok. All right.” She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’re not blaming you, and if you’ve had a shower there’s no point in examining you further. You have some tearing which will heal, and we’ll give you a cream to help the swelling.”

“I’d like to get dressed now.”

“Of course,” she says kindly. “Doctor Angela would like to take some blood and just check your levels if that’s OK, and she can contact your hematologist?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Get dressed and I’ll get the other tray ready.”

“Is it OK if my friend comes in?”

“Sure, I’ll get her.”

“Christ, sweetie, what’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.” Anna squeezes my hand.

“I’ll tell you at home, I just didn’t want to sit here alone.”

Once the blood has been taken they send me on my way, they’ll call on Monday or Tuesday if there’s anything unusual.

“What happened?” Anna asks as I’m tidying up clothes back at the hotel.

“I don’t know. We know I had too much to drink, I came home with a nose bleed and presumably had a shower and went to bed. She asked when I last had sex and if I’d been assaulted.”

“Shit.”

She picks up my clothes from last night and I start soaking my top in the sink; my hidden talent is removing blood stains, another unfortunate side effect.

“Found your pajamas,” she calls from the other room. “Between the bed and the window… Tulia?”

She’s standing in the bathroom doorway and I catch her frown in the mirror. “What?”

“This just fell out of your pajamas.”

I don’t need to see it up close, just the brand across the front of the square foil packet would tell me enough. It’s a condom wrapper, an empty one.

“I don’t even own condoms. We don’t use them.”

I flop down onto the bed and my head starts to pound again. I rub at my temples, trying to stave it off.

“What is it?”

Something has fired off a snippet of memory when I saw the packet; a man’s voice, harsh and clipped…

_‘Can’t have you gettin knocked up, now.’_

“I don’t know.”

“Tulia, do you think someone hurt you? I thought Dom walked you home?”

_‘Don’t make me hurt you, Tulia.’_

“I think this is a nightmare and I’d very much like to wake up now.”

*****

* * *

I’ve convinced Anna to go to bed and I sit and stare at the clock until I’m sure she’s asleep before I leave my room with the necklace in my hand. Down the hall I count the numbers until I find the one I’m looking for, about six down from mine and Anna’s, and knock. The handful of pieces in my addled brain fell together when I found the necklace again in the kitchen and recalled seeing it around someone’s neck.

Patrick is momentarily taken aback when he opens the door, but arrogance soon takes over and he moves aside to let me in.

“Tulia Campbell, I never thought I’d see the day you’d be knockin’ on my door. Drink?”

“No, thanks. You missing this?” I hold up the necklace and let the medallion drop from my fingers, unfurling as it falls and stretches the chain.

“Yeah. Thanks. I don’t suppose you’re going to have it repaired?”

“How did it end up in my bed?”

“Oh, I see. You’re not here for round two, you don’t remember. You were pretty out of it, maybe I could show you what happened.”

He reaches a hand toward my cheek and I fling it off. “Keep your filthy hands off me, Patrick.”

Without even the good grace to look wounded, he sits down on the couch. From the corner of my eye I spy the shirt he was wearing last night, a light blue button down with a paisley pattern crumpled in a ball by the door. He lunges toward it but I beat him and hold it up before he can snatch it away.

“Why don’t we begin with your shirt being covered in my blood?”

“I think you know why. Your nose bleeds like a bitch, that shit’s never coming out. I undressed you, cleaned you up in the shower, and it stopped after you passed out.”

“You didn’t think to perhaps get me some medical attention?”

“It was 2am, Tulia. And no, it stopped. You were breathing, you were responsive. I took good care of you.”

“For the record it didn’t stop at all, it just went down my fucking throat instead. I could have bled to death.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You’re just regretting your decisions and can’t handle your alcohol.”

“What else happened?”

“We had sex. I have to say, though… well it’s no wonder Sebastian left. If that’s what you always do, just lie there, I can see why he might get a bit bored.”

I can feel bile rising in the back of my throat, the nausea I’ve swallowed all day threatening to boil over.

“You asshole. You tore me to fucking shreds, I had to see a doctor. And you left me covered in bruises. You know that’s rape, right?”

“You didn’t protest.”

“I was passed out. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I tug my shirt to one side so he can see my collarbone, which now clearly shows a dark purple thumb print over the bone and the other four fingers on my shoulder. For the first time he looks genuinely shocked and concerned, but I don’t for a second mistake the object of his remorse. He’s worried not for my welfare but his own, he’s wondering what I’m going to do about it.

“You listen to me.” He tries to direct me to a chair but I stand firm with my arms folded. “We had sex. I used a condom and it was consensual-”

“The hell it was.”

“Shut up and listen. You start crying rape and I’ll make sure you never work again, do you understand me? You know I can do that, it’s your word against mine. No one will ever work with you again and your precious little career will be over because you can’t accept that you were lonely and went home with the first man who offered to comfort you with his dick.”

“I have evidence,” I spit.

“You have nothing. You have a night you don’t remember and a sore pussy because you begged me to fuck you rough like the whore you are. Just try it, Tulia. See how far you get. And when it’s over and you have no career you can crawl back to your precious pretty boy and hope he supports you the rest of your life now that no one in Hollywood will touch you with a ten foot barge pole.”

I’m so furious I can’t speak. Storming back to my room there’s only one thought in my mind. 

_He’s an asshole, but he’s right._


	6. Exes and Ohhs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings on this chapter

##  **Sebastian**

“Michelle,” I whine her name and scratch at my jaw. “See this is why I’ve been laying low.” **  
**

She’s holding up a tabloid with a clear picture of us walking down the street at 2am, and another where I’m kissing her cheek. The night itself was innocent enough aside from the amount of alcohol imbibed but in typical gossip rag style the headline reads ‘Co-star mends Sebastian’s broken heart’. The pictures don’t really convey the events accurately – for starters we weren’t so much walking as stumbling down the street arm in arm. Neither of us were really fit to hold the other up, but like a Roman arch supporting a wall by its own force we seemed to find the right formula to make it home mostly upright. And if memory serves I was actually trying to lick her ear rather than kiss her cheek.

“Since when do you care what they say?”

“I don’t, because I was there and I know there’s nothing going on between us. Tulia doesn’t need that kind of shit being spread around about her husband.”

“ _Ex_ husband,” she corrects.

“We’re still married, Chelle. I still care about her. Fuuuuck.”

“I’m sorry,” she tosses it aside and sits down next to me. “If it’s any consolation she’s been out partying, too. Going home with some other production guy, apparently.”

“Who?” My air of nonchalance is ruined when I reach across for the paper.

“Patrick someone?”

“Guy’s a douchebag, she wouldn’t go home with him.”

“Especially when she’s surrounded by gorgeous Italian men.”

“You’re not helping.” My phone rings on the table and she tosses it to me on the way out of my trailer with a wave, leaving me to take the call in peace. “Hello?”

“You’re not really dating Michelle, are you?” a familiar female voice asks.

“No, Victoria, I am not. Isn’t part of your job to make sure this shit doesn’t get printed?”

“I’m a publicist, Seb. Not a magician. If you don’t want it printed don’t get photographed doing it.”

“Is that what I’m doing wrong? Going out in public? Huh.”

She laughs on the other end. “How are you doing, anyway?”

“I’m good. Keeping busy.”

“Glad to hear it. Busy you means busy me. We’re just scheduling the next press tour, any dates you want kept free other than the usual ones?”

She means our anniversary and Tulia’s birthday and my stomach tightens when I realise they really don’t matter anymore; I’d probably prefer to be occupied with work.

“No, but I need some time to find an apartment and move in.”

“All right. I’ll send you the dates when it’s finalised.”

“Have you spoken to Tulia?”

“No, she politely declined my offer of representation and I haven’t had need to. Why?”

“I just wondered how she’s doing.”

“Maybe you should call her and find out.”

“Yeah, probably. Thanks, Vic.”

I hang up and turn the phone over and over in my hands like flipping a coin, wondering if it would be ok to call her. Am I doing it to see if she’s all right because I’m genuinely concerned, or because I want to know she’s hurting like I am. She knows not to believe anything she reads, and I hope she knows if anything did happen I’d call her first. There’s also the possibility I’m looking for reassurance that she hasn’t resorted to sleeping with men who don’t deserve her – which I’ll begrudgingly admit is still anyone but me.

Or I just want to hear her voice.

“Let’s go, Sebastian!” Michelle calls from outside, making the decision for me.

* * *

The next day is stupidly long and physical, I feel like I’ve run a marathon through thick woods by lunchtime. Often I’m the last to leave the set but today I was out of there as soon as we were done, I couldn’t wait to get home and sink my aching body into a hot bath. I’m just starting to relax, the tension drawn out of my muscles into the steaming water, when out of habit I pick up my phone and start to write a text…

I have to put it down again, because we don’t do that anymore. Little things like this are what prick at me each day, like a million tiny needles being driven into my skin. Not texting, not calling when I know she’ll be done for the day, sending a goofy photo for her to laugh at when I’m in full costume, not buying the stunning pair of earrings in the window or making note of a restaurant we have to visit.

Lu hates Skype, but occasionally if I begged she’d give in and once she got into it there was nothing hotter than watching her face on the screen while she pleasured herself. Her eyes half closed, mouth open or her lip bitten between her teeth, that little frown when she was getting close and either trying to speed it up or stave it off. Out of nowhere she’d send me a photo of her tits, or the little satin bow on her panties, sometimes just a few words about what she wanted to do to me when I was home. Once she put on candy-apple-red lipstick and sent me a picture of that salacious mouth deep-throating a banana in the middle of the afternoon, and I’m sure the whole cast saw the throbbing erection trying to escape my pants. I had to dart off when they had a coffee break and take care of it in the bathroom of my trailer. .

Now I’m painfully hard just thinking about it. The first few weeks we were together are a dissociative blur of trying to maintain professionalism during the day and fucking like rabbits at night; we’d spend the entire weekend in my hotel room eating room service in bed. It was only when that initial honeymoon was over and we had to go our separate ways I realised I loved her, and after a month apart she flew to New York and surprised me. When I opened the door she was dripping wet from the rain and I don’t recall a word being spoken before sunrise – we didn’t have to.

I stroke myself a few times, tug gently on my balls and drag my fingers over that magic spot further down that always made my knees weak. Closing my eyes, I imagine Tulia’s body rubbing against me; her skin was always so soft, she took such good care of herself and always had that gorgeous glow from her Mediterranean roots even if she didn’t have the deep olive of her mother. Short, manicured nails would drag over my skin and leave pink swirls like a jet marking the sky with contrails. She’d kiss and bite at my neck, whisper a titillating recipe of dirty and tender into my ear while she nibbled at the shell, and then take my nipple between her teeth until I was on the brink of insanity.

My breaths shift to short and sharp as my hand moves faster near the head, my sack drawing up tight with impending release. With a long moan I shudder and erupt beneath the water, white threads of cum taking away the last of the tension as they leave my body sated and limp. I rub my hands over my face and through my hair, letting my head fall back against the edge while I wait for my heart to slow and the water to cool.

* * *

I’m woken at some ungodly hour the next morning by my phone ringing, the screen is like looking at the sun in the darkness of my room and I can’t even focus my eyes well enough to see who it is.

“Hello?” I grumble.

“Sebastian? It’s Doctor Hanna Elliott, Tulia’s hematologist.”

I bolt upright so fast my head spins. “What’s happened?.”

“I just can’t get hold of her, I knew she was in Naples and I was hoping she might be with you.”

“No, I’m in Los Angeles. Is she sick?”

“She had… you haven’t spoken to her?”

“We separated a few weeks ago. Is she all right?”

“She’s fine, she had some tests and I need to contact her, that’s all. She’s not answering her phone.”

“If she’s working it will be on silent, she’ll get back to you when she has a break.”

“I see. I left a message so I’ll wait to hear from her. Thanks, Sebastian.”

“You’re sure she’s OK?”

“She had a bleed the other night and they did some tests, her hemoglobin is dangerously low and she needs a transfusion. Nothing they can’t sort out quickly. You’re best to speak to her if you want to know more.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

Now I’m awake and I can’t stop worrying, I figure it’s worth trying Anna and my heart leaps into my throat when she answers.

“What’s up, Seb?”

“Is Lu ok?”

“She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Her hematologist just called, she needs to call her back urgently. She needs to go and have a transfusion, she said she’d seen a doctor over there.”

“All right, I’ll pass it on as soon as they finish this scene. Is that all they told you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Just so I can give her the whole message. She’s been a bit tired and withdrawn, so that would explain it.”

“Anna, if she’s not well I want you to call me. I know you’re her assistant not mine, but I need to know if she needs me. Or if I can do anything.”

“Sebastian, she’s fine. I promise. I’ll call you if that changes.”

Something’s not right, she hasn’t needed a transfusion since before we got married and she can’t lose that much from one nose bleed. Not for the first time this week I wish I didn’t care.

I run just as the sun is clawing its way over the horizon and I’m at least feeling a little calmer when I get back. Tulia hasn’t had a break in a long time and I know stress can affect her condition so it’s possible there’s nothing to worry about. My instinct is to have a good chat to mum, but she’s got her hands full with my stepdad’s health right now and I don’t want to bother her. She sounded so worn down when I called to tell her I was moving out of our house… I end up calling Chris instead.

“Mate, if anyone can handle themselves it’s Tulia. You know that,” he says with a laugh.

“I don’t know if I’m more worried she’ll be fine without me or she won’t. I do feel like something’s wrong, though.”

“Go see her if you’re that worried.”

“I can’t just go to Italy for the weekend!”

“Don’t kid yourself, Seb. If she calls you’ll be on a plane.”

“Well yeah, if I know she needs me.”

“Do you want me to see if she’ll talk to me?”

“Fuck no, she’d cut my balls off.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m kinda scared of getting on her bad side.” He laughs. “Stop worrying. Either it will work itself out or it won’t, but I’m sure she’s fine.”

After I hang up I do the one thing I wasn’t going to: I text her.

[Just making sure you got the message to call Dr Elliott, she needs to speak to you urgently. Let me know if you need anything, I’m worried about you.] Those last four words are deleted and re-typed more times than I can count, and even after I’ve sent the message I wonder if I should have.

You could knock me down with a feather when she replies within seconds.

[Thanks, I did. Having a transfusion this afternoon and she’s changed my emergency contact to Anna so you won’t get any more calls. I’m ok, just routine stuff. Don’t worry.]

I’m not feeling particularly reassured, but sooner or later for my own sanity I have to let it go.


	7. Take back the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is mention and vague description of rape, and a fair amount of blood (nose bleed and transfusion) in this chapter. I’ll get the next couple of updates out quickly so we can get past this, but it’s important to the story (sorry, Tulia and Seb. I’ll make it up to both of you!)

**Tulia**

“Thanks for doing this after hours, Rose,” I say as she hooks me up to the first unit of blood.

“No problem, love. You must be quite the expert with this?”

“I haven’t needed one in a while. Where are you from?” I can tell English is her first language and her fair, freckled skin and light hair make it obvious she’s not Italian.

“Manchester,” she says with a wide smile. She sits down on a chair in front of mine and eyes the bruise on my chest, now surrounded by green as it spreads. I wore a scarf to hide it at work but was relieved to get it off once I was inside the medical centre. “Can I talk to you about what happened the other night?”

“I got to the bottom of it, everything’s fine.”

“Sweetheart… I’ve dealt with this before, and what happened to you was not ok. If you don’t remember and you’re that badly torn up, you know what that is.”

“Thank you, really. I appreciate your concern. But everything’s sorted out.”

“With your permission, I’d like to take pictures for evidence-”

“Please-”

“Just in case you change your mind. Us having the pictures here doesn’t make a whisker of difference if you don’t report it. But if you decide to later there’ll be proof to back it up.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Just don’t expect anything to come from it.”

“Do you need any birth control or an STI test to be safe?”

“No. He used a condom.”

“I’ll say this once more and then I’ll shut up about it. It doesn’t matter how much you had to drink. It’s still rape.”

“I know. It’s a small industry, you know? Everyone knows everyone and he’s a respected and more experienced man who has pull over the production team. He can make sure I never work again.”

“Is work worth your sanity, though? Can you live with it? What if he does the same to someone else?”

“I’d lose everything. I’ve worked so goddamn hard to get here, and it would all be for nothing. He can do that, and he knows it. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

She grabs my shoulder and looks me in the eye with a stern frown.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, he obviously had enough wits about him to know how intoxicated you were and he took advantage.”

“I know it’s the easy way out, but I can’t stand up to him. I won’t risk my reputation.”

She seems to sense there’s no use pushing any further and takes the photos she needs in silence while the blood is fed into my vein, followed by a second and third unit before I’m allowed to leave.

“Sebastian sounded really worried,” Anna says on the way back to the hotel.

“He doesn’t need to be, I’m fine. I’ll feel ten foot and bulletproof in the morning.”

“He’s not the only one worried. I know you know more than you’re letting on, are you ever going to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell, Anna. I made a mistake and I had far too much to drink. That’s the end of it.”

Evidently everyone around me is getting the hint that I don’t want to talk about it.

* * *

At two weeks to wrap-up we’re right on schedule and I’m looking forward to a holiday. I’m doing my best to put the whole incident with Patrick behind me, so far he’s stayed well enough away at work and I politely decline every time they ask me out for drinks. I run in the morning, work all day and some more at night, go to bed and do it all again. Even though I know he’s getting away with something he shouldn’t, I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing.

Life is working its way back to normal.

Anna and Antonio are still going at it like teenagers, which is ridiculously cute and also serves to keep her off my back. She regularly spends the night at his house now and meets me on set in the morning, as compensation she brings coffee with her.

“Large and strong, just how you like it,” she says, handing me the cup. She frowns at my hand as I take it.

“What?”

“You took off your rings.”

I did, but only after my engagement ring slipped off my finger in the bathroom sink. Whatever happens between Seb and I that ring will always be so special to me, I love it as much as the day he proposed. I’d never forgive myself if I lost it.

“Yeah, they were getting loose on my finger, I figured it was a sign.”

“It’s a sign that I’m right and you’re losing too much weight.”

“I’m not, if I am it’s what I put on when we got here and I was eating and drinking too much. Anyway, it was time I took them off.”

I still feel naked without them, I wonder how long it will take to get used to that finger being bare.

“Morning, ladies,” Patrick interrupts on his way past. I barely contain a shudder. “Either of you know how to sew a button?”

He gestures to the front of his shirt which is open at the front and clearly missing a button.

“Try costumes, perhaps?” I offer.

“Hold on, that necklace,” Anna says while moving toward him. “Did you lose this? We found one just like it in our room.”

“Did you?” he replies smoothly, raising an eyebrow toward me before walking away.

Anna rounds on me so quickly I step back. “It was his, wasn’t it? What did he do?”

“Calm down, it was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Tulia. He hurt you.” She lowers her voice to a hushed whisper. “He raped you.” The colour drains from her face and I see tears welling in her eyes. “He did, didn’t he?”

“It’s complicated, Anna. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

“You have to report it. If you don’t say something I will.”

“Please, listen. I’m putting it behind me and I just want to forget about it. I’m OK. Lesson learned.”

“And what has he learned, huh? That it’s OK to just take what he wants, take advantage without any consequences?”

“Please just let it go. I don’t want to be the victim and I don’t want to rehash it, I just want to move on.”

“I want you to know that I think you’re doing the wrong thing. But I love you anyway.”

“Your opposition is noted. And I love you for understanding.”

She won’t just drop it that easily, that’s not Anna’s style. I can only hope she respects what I want.

“Just the woman I was looking for,” Dom interrupts. “What do you have lined up next?”

“My next one starts end of October in Scotland.”

“Would you be up for a short in-studio job starting early September?”

“Who’s the rest of the crew?” Anna chimes in.

“Uh, mostly the same as this one. My usual crew.”

“Patrick?”

I shoot her a stabbing look but she only mirrors it back.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Send me the dates, I’ll do it if it fits. At Burbank?” I ask, ignoring Anna’s frown.

“Yeah. I’ll send it to you, just let me know as soon as you can.”

My phone immediately pings with an email.

“Don’t do this, Tulia. Why would you do this to yourself?”

“Dom’s a good mate and I get so much work with him, how can I just say no to every job?”

“You could tell him. You know he’d never work with Patrick again after that.”

“He worked with Patrick long before I came along, and it’s my word against his. I appreciate your concern, but I just have to do it. Another year and I can be more picky.”

She shakes her head and leaves. I can’t expect her to understand, she doesn’t have to. She just has to keep her mouth shut.

* * *

_It can’t be morning yet, I’m sure I only just closed my eyes. My stomach churns, I can feel something dripping down the back of my throat._

_Copper. Blood. My nose was bleeding._

_**Is** bleeding. I know this is my bed but I feel like I’m in a boat, anchored and spinning in circles as I list to one side and then the other over the rise and fall of the swell._

_Have to get up… something holds me._

_“Not yet, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”_

_Crushing in my collarbone, squeezing like a vise. Eyes won’t focus, but I know that voice._

_“No,” I croak, my voice is thick with sleep and intoxication. I try to push him off but he’s too heavy._

_“Don’t make me hurt you, Tulia.”_

_Why would he want to hurt me? Finally a reprieve, he sits back but his weight is on my legs._

_“Can’t have you gettin knocked up.”_

_“Please… let me up, please.” A tiny woman’s voice that doesn’t sound like mine._

_My legs are forced wide until I feel my joints scream, and I’m being ripped apart. Again and again until I sink into the inky tar of blissful unconsciousness…_

_Everything hurts and I’m going to be sick. I claw at the body on top of me, finally getting purchase before I feel something snap and fall between my fingers. In response he moves faster, harder, until my core is burning and I can’t breathe._

* * *

_He’s gone._

_I’m alone again._

_I sit up and blood pours from my nose into my shaking hand._

_He’s back, pushing me back down and ignoring my protests, wiping harshly at my face._

_“Fucking hell, it’s everywhere. I thought only white trash socialites still snorted coke?”_

_Tears pour from my eyes, I can feel it bubbling and pooling at the back of my throat. I have to get up… have to stop it…_

_“No!”_

I sit upright in bed, his weight no longer holding me down.

I’m alone.

I hold both hands beneath my nose and run for the bathroom, emptying a stomach full of bright red splatter as more tears stream from my eyes.

With a handful of tissues on my face I follow the usual process and prop my head up with pillows on the couch, willing myself back to sleep for an hour before I have to be up for work. By the time Anna wakes me she’s already stripped the sheets from my bed and made me a coffee. At least today is our last day and we’ll be finished in time for the wrap party this evening. Anna suggested we both just stay away but I’ve decided to brave at least the dinner portion; sans alcohol, of course.

“Rough night, huh?”

“Yeah.” I rub at my eyes. 

“You could have called out and I’d have come in. I actually heard you yelling in your sleep but I didn’t want to disturb you. Are you ok?”

“Just a nightmare and a bloody nose.”

“Another one. How many is that this week?”

“Nightmares? Two. You think I didn’t have them before? I used to dream that I’d forgotten to take notes for a whole day and got fired because none of the takes were right. Or that Seb cheated on me, or all my teeth fell out. They’re not new.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thanks. Just let me have a quick shower and we’ll go.”

* * *

“That’s it!” Dom calls early in the afternoon. “Let’s pack up and fuck off!”

A restaurant has been hired for the party and it’s a quiet, relaxed affair. The drinks are flowing freely but I’m sticking with soda and pretending it has vodka so no one pressures me into drinking. I’ve begun to let my guard down and am in deep conversation with a couple of the actors when Patrick appears beside me.

“I hear you’ll be working with us again in a couple of months,” he says into my ear. “A wise decision.”

I lower my voice so no one else hears. “I never said I’d be nice to you, and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

“Now, now, Tulia.”

God I hate the way he says my name, he makes me want to shed it and choose a new one.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he continues. “If you gave me a chance we might even have a good time. How was I to know you didn’t want it?”

“Get out of my sight.”

He grabs my arm as I try to walk away, his huge hand wrapped all the way around my tiny forearm.

“Listen well, doll face. Lose the attitude or I will tell everyone how you begged me to fuck you hard and then cried like a baby and tried to turn it into rape. I’m your superior and you will show me the appropriate respect.”

“Firstly, we are equals. All you’ve got on me is a few years’ experience. You are not, in any way, further up the food chain than me. Secondly, I will show you the respect you’ve earned in a professional setting. Outside of the set I owe you nothing.”

I yank my arm from his grasp and stride back toward Dom where he’s in conversation with some other crew and actors, one of them a mate of Seb’s.

“Hey, Tulia. How’s it going?”

“Good, Matt. Looking forward to a break?”

“Yeah, I’m off until after Christmas now. Big break. What about you?”

“Staying here another week, home a few weeks and then onto the next one.”

“God, Seb wasn’t lying, you never- sorry.”

“Never stop. I know.”

“Sorry… really sad to hear about you two.”

“It’s ok. He’s right, I don’t. I can’t afford to knock anything back.”

“Yeah, I get it. Can I get you another drink?”

“No thanks. Anna and I are headed to Capri in the morning, I don’t want to miss a day with a hangover.”

“You look like you need a holiday, you sure you’re ok?”

“Yep, just tired. Long days, not enough sleep, you know how it is.”

I’m interrupted by Anna and Matt holds me in a tight hug before she can drag me away. “Hopefully we’ll work together again, soon. Actually I’m having a party for my birthday in a couple of weeks, if you’re back in New York I’d love for you to come.”

“Absolutely, text me.”

Anna pulls me aside. “Just checking you’re all right. We’re ready to go whenever you are.”

“I’m good. Patrick is an asshole, but I’m good. He’s not bothering me right now, I don’t think he will again tonight. You’re free to go enjoy your last night of Italian passion.”

“I’m not leaving you, Tulia.”

“Come here,” I drag her over to the bar where Matt is waiting for a drink. “Matthew here is the most sensible upstanding citizen I know, and Sebastian would kill him if he let anything happen to me. Right, Matt?”

“Uh, yeah… what’s this about?”

“Would you make sure I get safely inside my hotel room? Personally?”

“Of course.”

I turn from his confused face to Anna. “There you go. I am entirely in safe hands. And I’m sober. Have a good night, I don’t want to see you before nine in the morning.”

She hugs me tight. “I have my phone, call if you need me. I’m calling you every hour until you’re safe in bed, text me when you get there.”

“I will.”

“You going to tell me what that’s about? The Tulia I know doesn’t need anyone escorting her home,” Matt says behind me.

“Nope, just let me know when you’re leaving and I’ll walk with you.”

* * *

Only a few of us remain as midnight approaches, I take in the warm breeze and the yachts in the marina with their gentle sway of twinkling lights from the terrace. With no one else around I let the shawl fall down to my elbows, exposing the thin straps of my dress and the skin of my chest and shoulders to the salty breath of the coast.

As a child I loved our vacations here with mum’s family. Once I was a little older she’d allow me to spend the summer with my aunt and cousins and I’d dream of someday living with them; going to school and making friends, being settled and familiar with one city, having a real home. I only mentioned it once and I can still see the hurt on her face, I made out I was having a joke and never brought it up again. She only told me years later that she was terrified dad would take me away and she’d hardly see her only child; otherwise she’d have left him much sooner. Waiting until I was old enough to decide for myself, and safe in the knowledge that I would choose to remain in London with her, gave her the courage to finally speak up.

I was so intent on not being her – and on my husband not being anything like hers – that I held on to a broken marriage and kept taking more and more work so that I couldn’t be left behind. Now I have to concede the possibility that I’ve turned into my father instead.

I turn at the sound of footsteps and my insides freeze into a block of ice when I see Patrick walking toward me with two glasses of champagne.

“Please leave me alone,” I say with a forced smile, pulling the shawl back around myself. He holds his hands up and stops a few feet away, holding a glass out to me. “I’m not drinking.”

Setting it down on the table he takes a sip from his own glass. “Tulia, I’m sorry. What I did was out of line. I was hoping you’d let me take you out one day, make it up to you and show you I can be a gentleman?”

“No, Patrick. I was never interested in you to begin with, and I’m definitely not now. I’m married, I’m not looking for a date.”

“You’re not wearing your rings.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“No? You wonder why this whole misunderstanding happened in the first place when you put out all of these signals-”

“Misunderstanding?! Are you serious?”

“I thought you wanted me to.”

“What part of ‘no’ made you think that, exactly?”

I pick up the champagne glass, desperate to smash it into his ignorant face. Instead I down half of it while he gestures and tries to think of his next excuse.

“You were so drunk you passed out and so high you can’t possibly remember what happened.”

“I don’t do drugs, genius, I have a blood disorder. I passed out from severe lack of oxygen in my blood.”

“How was I to know that?”

“You weren’t. It makes no difference. Drunk, high, or sick, what you did was assault.”

He reels for a moment, and then just like that the arrogant asshole is back in control.

“Maybe you should take better care of yourself.”

My hands fist so tight it’s a wonder I don’t shatter the glass in my hand, and the logical side of my brain suggests putting it down before I hurt myself. 

Instead I hurl it at him. 

After soaking the front of his shirt it bounces off and shatters on the tiles much louder than I’d have liked and when I look up everyone else has fallen silent to stare at us.

Forcing my head up and shoulders back I stride toward Matt, who already holds his arm out ready to whisk me away.

“Still don’t want to tell me?” he asks when we’re halfway down the street.

“No.”

He laughs. “You’re one of a kind, Tulia. And I have no doubt he deserved it.”


	8. Confessions of an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, that awkward moment you realise you've made a continuity error in your own story...  
> Just to clear up any confusion - Sebastian and Tulia own an apartment near Venice beach and that's where he is currently staying, not in a hotel. I'm fixing previous references now while slapping my own forehead.

###  **Sebastian**

Victoria’s schedule gives me five weeks at home before I’m hopping around Asia for two weeks and then on to Europe and the UK. My first thought is of five weeks in New York, with all of our favourite places and having to move somewhere unfamiliar, is going to require a lot of distraction. While I’m working on filling my social calendar with old friends she calls me.

“Who’s the best publicist?”

“Hmmm. Are we talking net income or biggest names? Stephen Huvane? Simon Halls?”

“Wrong.”

“Robin Baum?”

“I’ll give you a hint, she’s about to dump your arse.”

“See, my arse is worth a fair bit of cash to mine, so I’m out of guesses. This could be a really long game.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“All right, it’s you. What fantastical marvelous feat have you performed today?”

“I found you an apartment. Few blocks away from where you were, but same district so you won’t have to move far. I’ve emailed you the pictures but I think you’ll love it, it’s exactly what you told me you wanted.”

“I didn’t expect you to do anything about it, though. Thanks, Vic.”

“You’ll have to move fast.”

“You know what? I trust you. Can you put the payment down for me?”

“Consider it done.”

“Thanks, darlin. That’s awesome. You’re definitely the best publicist. Maybe not the richest, or the most famous, but the best.”

“You know it.”

* * *

 

As the days wear on the reminders come less often. My morning routine no longer includes hoping for a message or picking up the phone to say good morning before I remember not to. I wasn’t expecting a positive to come out of that, but there is a silver lining. The knot I always get in my stomach when I know we’ll be together again, revving each other up and making each other crazy, only comes on for a few moments before I can breathe it away. That won’t happen this time. I’m not going home to a shitstorm, to fights louder than fireworks and more hurtful than gunfire. Of course I’m not going home to my Tulia either, and there are times I think maybe the fighting was worth it for the good times.

I don’t think resentment is part of a healthy marriage, though. One way or another we’d have ended up much worse off if we’d let it go on. I only have to tell myself that a hundred times a day now, not a thousand. That’s progress, right?

Cleaning out my trailer is a welcome relief, this film has taken its emotional pound of flesh and the end is as gratifying as that last huge yawn at the end of a hard day before you collapse into bed. Michelle waltzes in and lies down on my couch like she owns the place and I can’t help but smile.

“Need a hand?” she asks, lacing her fingers behind her head.

“Nah, I’m nearly done.”

“Good, ‘cause I had no intention of actually helping.” She laughs, loud and unrestrained. “Gonna miss hanging out with you, Seb.”

“Yeah, me too. We should catch up more often.” I’d forgotten how well we get along, how easy she is to be around and talk to. 

“Well next time you’re in Beverly Hills, hit me up.”

“I try to avoid that at all costs,” I chuckle. “But if I am, I will. Same if you’re in New York.”

“I’ll take you up on that next month if you’re home.”

“I should be. Don’t ask me where exactly home is. Victoria knows. I’ll text you when I’m moved in and have something to sit on.”

“Ooh, furniture shopping.”

“You want to do it for me, be my guest.”

“Pass,” she says. “It’s no fun if you don’t get to enjoy it. I will come and visit, though.”

A few minutes of silence pass, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s fallen asleep when I turn back from taking down some photographs. 

“You seem a bit brighter than when you arrived. I was worried about you.”

“It comes and goes. I think it will all work out, though. We did the right thing.” I pack away the folder and look around. “I’ll probably change my mind about that in two minutes.”

“You never were one to give up easily.”

I take one last look around. “I’m done, let’s get out of here.”

“Drink time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Lead the way.”

 

A private rooftop party in Santa Monica is just what the doctor ordered, where I can let loose and not worry about out-of-context headlines from innocent shenanigans. I’ve avoided alcohol completely since the other incident so I’m sure I’ve earned a few drinks. Once I’ve done enough dancing to have my hair soaked with sweat I bail out for a rest and find myself in conversation with Brad, an actor I’ve never worked with before this film.

“She is phenomenally good at her job,” he says, referring to Tulia. Apparently no one wants to talk about anything else anymore, like now that we’re separated they want to say everything they ever thought about her before it’s too late. “She’s almost at the sweet spot where there are more offers than time and she can pick and choose.”

“Yeah, I’m really proud of her. She’s worked so hard to get here.”

“Hollywood is the antidote to marriage. Nothing’s real, nothing lasts. Relationships have about the same shelf life as a film, if you’re still together at DVD stage you’ll go down in history. All you can do when it ends is pack it up and move on to the next.”

“Part of me still wants to believe we’ll be one of the exceptions.”

“You could, if you faked it. The ones that last aren’t happy families where they live together in their mansion. They spend most of their time apart, she’s at home with the kids while he has a mistress or two on the side and they just appear all bright and shiny on the red carpet together.”

I hope I never become this cynical. His opinion is a popular one and I always thought it was an excuse made by people who didn’t want to put the effort in, they’d rather dispose of their relationship like a Starbucks cup and get another one tomorrow. Maybe there is a grain of truth and our lifestyle makes a traditional relationship impossible. Maybe we should just move on and understand that it was what it was. Maybe I should be grateful for the good times and cut my losses.

I haven’t heard from Tulia in weeks, now. Removing me as her emergency contact seems sort of final, given I’ve been replaced by a woman who resides in Florida. She should be wrapping up her film and heading home as well, but not knowing even vaguely where she is from one week to the next makes me jittery. 

I just want to forget about it for a while, take a few hours of mindless fun without wondering what’s next.

So I dance until my feet hurt and keep drinking until the sweet buzz of ambivalence hits me. And somehow we end up on the beach, walking home barefoot on the sand. 

“This is kind of romantic in a platonic sort of way,” Michelle says into the breeze.

“It is, huh. Closest we ever got to midnight beach strolls was me throwing you in at that pool party, remember?”

“Of course I remember. You’re lucky we were all too broke for camera phones. Who throws their girlfriend in the water in a white dress?”

“Um, every man ever! Who wouldn’t? Hello, titties! In my defence I thought you’d have a bra underneath and I didn’t realise it would be that cold.” I laugh as she punches my chest.

“It was November, you bastard! You never apologised, either.”

“Didn’t you break up with me like a week later?” 

“Yeah, because you were hitting on that waitress.”

“I was not hitting on the waitress, Michelle. And her name was Tara. We were just talking.”

“You never slept with her?”

“Not until after we broke up, and only once.”

“Was that because you were only interested in her boobs?”

“They were fake,” I say mournfully, holding my hands up as though I can still feel them. “Really well done… but fake.”

“Another potentially beautiful relationship ruined by silicon.” She laughs. “You have a spare bed, right? I’m not walking all this way just to get a cab from your apartment?”

“Yes, we… I have a spare bed.”

The slip doesn’t escape either of us, and our raucous teasing and laughter quickly turns to silence.

“I’ve thought about you over the years,” she says finally. “Wondered if we might end up back together. Until you got married, obviously.”

“I’m gonna ignore that, it’s the alcohol talking.”

“It’s not,” she says softly. When I look down at her she’s wringing her hands like she’s nervous. Michelle doesn’t do nervous. Ever.

“Chelle, come on. We had fun together, but it was never going anywhere.”

“Why, because we didn’t fight over every little thing? Isn’t fun the point? It’s not meant to be all hard work.”

“No, but…” I’m trying to formulate a comeback, but it’s not happening. “You really felt that way? Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve been pining away and harbouring unrequited love for ten years. Don’t flatter yourself, the sex wasn’t so good you ruined me or anything, I just wondered.”

“Well, thanks.” I laugh, but she’s got this baiting look in her eyes like she’s trying to talk me into something. Not quite trick me in a malevolent way, but twist my arm just a little further.

Unlocking the screen door I wave her in front of me and she walks straight through to the balcony where the salty breeze cools the humid air. I take two beers out of the fridge and toss my keys on the counter before joining her.

“There’s nothing like being this close to the beach in summer,” she says as it whips her hair back. 

“Yeah, I’m going to miss this when I go home. Why am I going back to New York again?”

“I don’t know,” she chuckles. “It’s nice to visit but I couldn’t live there.”

“That’s how I feel about California.” I let my head fall forward as we lean on the railing looking out over the ocean. “Fuck, this film has just left me spent. People think action movies are difficult.”

She sets her beer down and reaches up to knead my shoulders with her surprisingly strong fingers. “You have more knots than my grandma’s knitted sweaters, Seb.”

“You have teeny tiny hands, how can you be so good?”

“Overcompensation, lots of practice.”

“If acting doesn’t work out for you- ouch! You could totally be a masseuse.”

“Sorry. Found another one.”

“What are you doing next?”

“Why, you want the full body treatment?”

“I mean for work, smartass.”

“Nothing for a while. I have some meetings and a magazine thing in New York and after that I don’t really know. Everything else is a few months away but I have two parts to study so I’m sure I’ll stay busy.”

Her little fingers keep up their magic until they must surely be aching, and if I close my eyes I think I’d fall asleep in a puddle of drool. I straighten up and finish off my beer, she moves around in front of me and squeezes around my collarbones.

“Better?”

“Much. Thanks.”

She looks down but stays so close I can smell her perfume and shampoo, and her fingers stop to rest on the curve of my neck before her eyes meet mine again. Stretching up on her toes and pulling down on my neck, I let my arms fall around her and she feels so warm and feminine, so easy to hold. Her lips brush my cheek and my breath catches, my mind tries to tell me to stop her but my body just wants to feel.

“Stop overthinking,” she whispers.

With her lips parted and her warm breath on my face she waits, stroking my cheeks with her thumbs and watching my mouth with the concentration of a cat watching a mouse. Hours seem to pass as she bites and releases her lip, awaiting my decision. My brain falls silent, runs out of well-reasoned argument and lets my body have its way. 

Michelle’s kiss is familiar and for all the time that’s passed my flesh remembers it well, responding to her every touch on my skin. Relieved of clothes she pushes me back into the couch and sheathes my erection in a condom before straddling my hips. 

It’s raw but not rough, tender but not loving, body and sensation without heart or soul, and oh-so-fucking-good. The liberation of an unspoken agreement of mutual release without attachment is like the dizzying freedom of nitrous oxide, and I want to sink and drown in it.

Only grunts and groans issue from our throats, not a word is spoken between us. Puffs of exerted breath, the slap of skin, the backdrop of crashing waves provide the accompaniment to our vocals as we peak together.

Later as I lie in bed alone I am utterly devoid of thought or emotion, and its a pleasant diversion from my usual overwrought brain. I know it won’t last, but then nothing ever does.

* * *

 

_ My fingers run through her molten chocolate hair, the ends springing back through as they leave my hand. _

_ “Your hair has grown.” _

_ “Yours, too,” she says, ruffling the thick mop on top of my head with a warm smile. _

_ “You know what that means, babe.” _

_ “Bucky hair.” Her lips move against mine as she speaks and she kisses me slowly, our tongues getting tenderly reacquainted while she tugs playfully at the back of my hair. _

_ “I love you, Lu. I missed you so much.” _

_ “Me too.” _

_ “I don’t want you to go away again,” the tremor in my voice surprises even me, and she shifts back to look me in the eye. _

_ “Ok.” _

_ I smile and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I wish it were that simple.” _

_ “I mean it. Ok. We’ll take a project together and I’ll work around your schedule. Be together as much as we can.” _

_ “But we had a rule-” _

_ “Fuck the rules. I missed you so much, I don’t want to do it anymore. I was miserable and I realised you are more important. This, us, is more important. I love you too much to let it die.” _

_ “Tulia…” She silences me with a finger over my lips, pulling me onto her naked body under the covers. I make love to her slow and sweet, like it’s the first time. _

* * *

 

The ocean is too loud, the sun too bright, and everything hurts. I roll over with a groan, my arms searching for her warmth in the cool sheets. My eyes squint against the glare of the sun on the white walls.

She’s not here.

Oh, but Michelle is in the other room. Fuck, this is going to be an awkward morning and I’ve woken up with a throbbing erection. I make myself half decent and find a note in front of the coffee machine.

_ ‘Seb, I’ll catch up with you in NYC. xx Michelle. PS - stop worrying, we’re cool. Text me later.’ _

Between her note and a hot shower both of my awkward problems are taken care of and I move on to breakfast and coffee before I have to pack for my flight this afternoon. With sunglasses on my delicate head is more inclined to cope with the sun so I enjoy the breeze from the balcony while I eat. 

We chose this apartment for its location on the beach and Tulia fell in love with the light from the endless windows and monochrome decor. It was intended as a holiday house for us to enjoy together but we never found the time, and now… who knows. I suppose if she keeps the house in New York then I get to keep this apartment, not that I’d live here. Then again, that anxiety about going home to more fighting is slowly being replaced by the anxiety of not having the certainty of a wife and a home, if there are less painful memories here maybe I’ll stay for a bit and get myself back together. 


	9. Rest, Relaxation, Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian phrases. (please please PLEASE if I’ve got anything wrong let me know!)
> 
> zia = aunt
> 
> nonni = grandparents
> 
> dolcezza / tesorino = sweetheart
> 
> cugina = cousin
> 
> stammi bene = take care
> 
> mio fratello = my brother

##  **Tulia**

Most people assume that a driven, ambitious, career-focused woman doesn’t know how to have downtime. For me this couldn’t be further from the truth, I’m so efficient at it that while everyone around me is still buzzing with nervous energy I’ve taken a few deep breaths of the ocean air as we depart Naples and am as relaxed as a warm puddle by the time we arrive in Capri.

It probably helps that no one knows me here, and I’m on a beautiful Mediterranean island in the middle of summer. Lazing in the sun while my skin dries from the first dip in the pool, I hear Anna’s phone beep from the adjacent lounger.

“Turn it off, Anna,” I grumble without opening my eyes. “Antonio can wait.”

“I’m not necessarily texting Antonio.”

“I can hear the smile on your face.”

“We can’t all just drop everything and relax like you can. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I start by switching my phone to silent. The world goes on without me. That is the single most peaceful thought I’ve ever had.”

“Your repeat bloods were ok? No more transfusions?”

“I am the very picture of health.”

“This calls for a toast. What are you in the mood for?”

“Surprise me.”

She returns with a bottle of Prosecco, and so begins three days of drinking, eating, swimming, and adventuring in the sun. On the fourth it rains, which is fortunate for my lightly-roasted skin; another day and I’d be a lobster. Tiny freckles have exploded over my cheeks and nose and whilst I’ve heard every one of Anna’s lectures about skin cancer I can’t deny how much I love having my mother’s olive glow. She still has it naturally, I have to spend just the right amount of time in the sun and I haven’t had the chance in a few years.

I didn’t realise until we were here just how desperately I needed some time off. I’m mostly pretty tuned in to my body and I know when to slow down, but now I’m seeing just how drained and weak I let myself become. My hair and eyes have their shine back, my skin is less translucent and bruised, and the aching joints that have plagued me for weeks have limbered up.

Yesterday we spent the entire day in bikinis and sandals, only occasionally slipping on a dress and hat when we were moving around shops or eating. All day we were in and out of the water at the beach and we took a boat out around the island and into the _Grotta Azzura_ (Blue Grotto), swimming in the bright blue water of the sea cave. The skipper took us to a private beach for the afternoon where the waters were crystal blue-green and so transparent we could watch the tiny marine life around our feet.

Looking over my coffee mug I see that stupefied grin on Anna’s face again.

“What did he say this time?”

“You’re staying a couple of days in Sorrento, yeah?”

“Yes, why?”

“Guess where Antonio’s visiting his sister?” I don’t bother answering because she already has her mouth open. “Sorrento!”

“That works out well, then. Let’s hope the weather is a little better for the weekend.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen your aunt and cousins?”

“God… a lifetime. At least ten years. They were supposed to come over for the wedding, but Calinda went into early labour so Natalia and my aunt had to stay with her.”

I can’t wait to see them again, they both have families of their own now even though Natalia is three years younger than me and I still think of her as a teenager.

The weather clears in the early afternoon so we make the trek to the lighthouse to watch the sun sink into the Mediterranean sea while sipping deep pink cocktails that mirror the colour of the sky. As though she’s reaffirming how I feel I catch Anna watching me in silence as I gaze over the darkening water, lost in my own thoughts.

“What?”

“You look amazing, Tulia. You looked so sick before, I was getting really worried.”

“I hate to say I told you so-”

“No you don’t.”

“-but I told you so.”

“I can’t believe four days can make that much difference.”

“I’ve mastered the art of the quick recharge,” I say with a flourish of my hand and a laugh.

“Is there anything you can’t do? Seriously, woman, you put the rest of us mere mortals to shame.”

“Anna, come on. Relationships, for one thing. You know my flaws better than anyone.”

“You do work too hard.”

“I know.” I sigh and set my glass down, catching her shocked expression from the corner of my eye. She’s not used to me admitting it. “I’m beginning to see what it’s costing me.”

Curious that a place I’ve spent such a small proportion of my life can feel like it holds so many important memories and immediately feel like home.

“Tulia!” a familiar voice calls from the end of the wharf.

“Zia,” I whisper as she pulls me into a hug. She’s tiny just like I remember, the spitting image of my mum – so much so they’ve been confused for twins and one another all their lives. We immediately slip into Italian while Anna looks on in total confusion, walking along the boardwalk behind us.

“Tesorina! Anna!” I recognise Antonio’s voice and before I can draw her attention to it she bustles through to be swept into his arms.

“Ahh, young love,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll catch up with you on Tuesday,” I call to Anna. She turns and blows me a kiss before they practically run off to his hotel. Zia Adela knows just enough English to get by, but I know from her sympathetic squeeze and frown that she got the gist. I brush off her questions about Sebastian with the usual ‘maybe it wasn’t meant to be’ and she seems to have dropped the subject by the time we arrive at her house.

As soon as we pull up the external stone wall brings me right back to my teenage years, as though I was only here yesterday. Most of the furnishings have changed, but the arch windows and white tiled floors that allow the whole house to flood with natural light remain. I’m reminded of the search for our beach apartment – this is exactly what I was trying to replicate. I see now how far short I was, there’s nothing like this anywhere in the world and I don’t think it’s the architecture.

Calinda and Natalia arrive within the hour with five children between them, and the house turns into the kind of chaos I am utterly unaccustomed to. With her eldest about to start school Calinda has her hands full but she’s never been happier, she just recently tied the knot with her high school sweetheart in a surprise ceremony with the children forming the bridal party. Thanks to Facebook I can at least feel like I’m not missing too much, but nothing compares to seeing them in person like this. Photos don’t do any of them justice, it’s like they all got an extra dip in the classic Italian beauty gene pool; Calinda’s girls are already stunning, with dark hair and eyes and the same full-lipped pout as their mother, and her son is the spitting image of his handsome and ridiculously tall father. He was their second child, the one born very early on the day Sebastian and I were married, but she tells me now he’s caught up in every area and even passed average length before his first birthday just to prove the doctors wrong.

Natalia’s twin boys are just about to turn one and making good use of her highly-trained ballerina toes, both of them taking their first steps in the last fortnight. Just like the rest they’re irresistibly cuddly and gorgeous, identically prepared to cause utmost mischief as they grow up. Calinda’s youngest is just barely six months old, and it wouldn’t shock anyone to hear that I’m not a real ‘baby’ person; working with them is always a painful experience and anything younger than fifteen just feels alien to me, I’ve always attributed this to not being around babies or children most of my life. As an only child I didn’t have siblings, thanks to homeschooling I didn’t spend every day with my peers, and while I visited Italy once a year my nonni both passed away before I was born so we spent the entire time with Adela and the girls who are essentially the same age as me.

When baby Isabella – affectionately known as Bella – is handed to me my entire body stiffens in fear. Sure, they’re ok while they’re happy, but if I know one thing about babies it’s that they like to cry over anything and everything, and then I’m up the proverbial creek without the trusty alcohol paddle that always works on crying adults.

She sits on my lap and sizes me up, swiping at my gold earrings and necklace with all the finesse of a stoner watching his own hand for hours on end, though she still might have a future in pickpocketing with a little practise and some depth perception. Her face contorts as soon as I hide the chain and pendant down my blouse and while I wait for the inevitable explosion into waterworks and blood-curdling screams the unthinkable happens.

I sneeze.

I’m not a petite little person who barely makes a ‘choo’ like a newborn kitten when I sneeze, it’s a full body and every organ in cooperation kind of deal that in fact starts in my toes and makes my legs jump up long before the fibres of my nostrils have been sufficiently tickled. And it’s loud enough that I could do it in another room and wake the man who I once tried to wake with a blow job and failed. The waking up failed, I should add. The job itself was completed to my usual high standard before he rolled over and carried on snoring.

We both freeze like a game of statues our lives are depending on. She scrunches her face in horror and disgust and something else that might actually mean she’s soiling herself, and at this point I’m already planning on handing her back to Calinda, knowing I’ve scarred her for life and she’ll hide behind a couch at the mere mention of _‘cugina Tulia’_ and require months of therapy to allow her own sneezes to escape without hyperventilating…

And she laughs.

It’s contagious and addictive, before long I’m re-enacting the scene so she continues firing out those staccato, breathless giggles. As it turns out, Bella isn’t prone to crying much at all, she’s just the happy-go-lucky baby every mother secretly hopes for. The one you see at the shops babbling away from the pram while the mother glows with endless nights of sleep because she remembered to tick the ‘angel’ baby box instead of ‘spawn of satan’. The magical unicorn of babies that was delivered by the stork so as not to mess up Calinda’s bits, who was beautiful right from her first sighing breath and not covered in that white slimy stuff.

What’s the deal with that, anyway? Ick.

She’s such a happy little thing that I’m disappointed when it’s time for her to go to bed and the rest of the children head to their nearby homes for an evening with their dads so their mums can have a few wines and a catch up with their long seen-but-not-felt cousin. I’m still pussy-footing around the walking-talking little people because they can get me in serious trouble if I slip up and say ‘fuck’ or ‘Santa isn’t real’, but I’m actually looking forward to seeing more of Bella.

Sebastian and I did talk about having children, and it was definitely on the cards. That particular card was at the very bottom of the deck beneath things like ‘see Everest’ and ‘win an Oscar’ and may never have found its way face-up, but it was there and had been discussed. Babies love him, of course. I think it’s his expressive face and tuggable hair, they just can’t help but pull on it and smile when he frowns and says ‘ouch’. He also just has that way about him that draws anyone and everyone in like a magnet, so it’s unsurprising it also affects the smaller of the species. I may not cluck like a mother hen at the mere mention of tiny feet or the scent of a baby but there’s some serious maternal hormones firing off when I see him with a baby; I can actually feel the eggs popping out of my ovaries. I’m only human, and my maternal hourglass is slowly emptying, I’m not entirely immune to the ‘cluck’ effect. There are some serious medical considerations for me, though, and I accepted before we were married that we just might not be able to reproduce, so finding myself without a husband now isn’t the catalyst for closing the door on the possibility. In fact not having another person’s feelings to consider will probably make it simpler.

Long into the early hours of the morning we talk and laugh on the terrace about our childhoods and teenage years, our dreams and aspirations and how different they look in reality. The inevitable conversation surrounding Seb is skimmed over fairly quickly once I tell them we were making one another miserable, but not before Adela insists on telling me we are _‘anima gemella’_ (soul mates) and will find our way back. Eventually the wine runs out and we’ve laughed until tears run down our aching cheeks, given the children were promised a day at the beach tomorrow we decide to call it a night.

While everyone else sleeps I lean pensively on the terrace railing and look out over the sea, remembering the naive young girl who used to do the same at every opportunity; never needing as much sleep as the others. In my mind I’d come back here to settle with my own little family, our children would grow up together and go to school together, be raised by that ‘village’ everyone talks about. At that age I wanted nothing to do with the film industry and its endless travel, I was aiming for a career in editing with one of the top publishing houses that would allow me to cut back hours once my gorgeous British husband and I decided to start a family.

I wonder what my sixteen year old self would say now.

The following day is essentially our last in Italy, tomorrow we depart for home. Mother nature has put on a perfect beach day for us so we head off for Puolo to spend some time enjoying the sun, sea, and pebbled beach. I wouldn’t wander around in a bikini on a public beach anywhere else, although I’m finding it quite freeing. Lying in the sun and sipping a drink I hear a vaguely familiar voice.

“Tulia?”

I shade my eyes to look up and find Carlo – our set designer and Antonio’s brother – smiling down at me. I sit up and he kneels beside me.

“Carlo, hello.”

“Family day out?”

“Yes,” I say with a chuckle. “Had to come back here for my last day in Italy.”

“Great minds think the same, Antonio and Anna and here, too.”

“You’re kidding. I cannot escape that woman!”

He laughs and pulls me up, pointing in the direction of the loved-up couple. Not that I’d need any direction, Anna is squealing as he twirls her around in chest-deep water.

“Have you been in the water yet?”

“I haven’t, I was enjoying the sun first. I suppose it’s the perfect temperature.”

“Always. Why don’t I show you?”

Before I can protest he lifts me into his arms and runs toward the water, battling his way through until I’m barely hovering above the surface and drawing attention with my loud laugh. Anna stops and points at me and just when I’m expecting to be dropped like a stone into the water he deposits me gently and kisses my knuckles.

“My lady.”

“Like a true gentleman. Thank you.”

Of course Anna proceeds to rush at me and barrel us both over into the water like a pair of splashing golden retrievers.

“What are you doing here?” she asks when we come up for air.

“Same as you,” I laugh. “Having fun?”

“Yes.” She grasps the hand Antonio has placed protectively on her waist. “Already planning my next trip. You’ll teach me some Italian, right? So we can talk on the phone?”

“Absolutely.”

She drags me away under the ruse of meeting my family, her hushed voice in my ear revealing her true intent once we’re half way along the sand.

“Carlo has not stopped talking about you.”

“Why?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. “Because he likes you.”

“Anna, I am not in the market for a man.”

“I know. I’m just giving you the heads up. He’s wanted to ask you out all this time but he thought it was too soon, now he feels like he should have done it while he had the chance.”

After half an hour gushing over the children Antonio and Carlo join us to remind Anna they have lunch reservations.

“May I speak with you, Tulia?” Carlo says softly.

“Of course.”

“I wondered if you might have dinner with us tonight, perhaps a double date with Anna and Antonio given it’s the last opportunity we’ll have.”

“Carlo, I’m flattered, really. I’m just not looking for anything right now, dating or otherwise.”

“I guessed that would be your answer, sometimes you just have to take the chance. I was going to ask you many times while we were working. Perhaps another time, when you’re visiting or I’m over there for work?”

“For sure. You have my number from the production team list, call me if you’re ever in New York.”

“I’ll do that.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek, lingering a fraction of a second with his bare chest only millimetres from mine.

“Good luck, Tulia.”

“ _Stammi bene,_ Carlo.” As he leaves he flashes a warm smile, and remembering he grew up in Sorrento I can’t help but wonder if we might have met as teenagers, or what could have happened if we’d met under different circumstances.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” his smooth voice says quietly into my ear.

As the sun sank into the ocean and the dusk air cooled around us this afternoon I bade farewell to Natalia and Calinda, promising to visit more often from now on. I genuinely intend to keep my word, if I’ve learned anything the last few weeks it’s that I need to slow down and take more time to recover between jobs. As I watched them securing their families into cars I began to feel like they might have grown up and moved on to a new phase in their lives without me and I’m living out of sync with where I wanted to be.

An afternoon drink turned into a heart-to-heart with Adela, where she dragged out every thread of detail surrounding my separation from Sebastian, and when I was completely drained and expecting a lecture she instead revealed something I never knew about my mother.

Adela and my dad never got along all that well, and my nonni didn’t think they were a good fit but went along with it when they knew she wouldn’t change her mind. The reason she never returned to Italy when they finally divorced was that she’d ignored all of their advice and thought one day he’d put us in front of advancing his career. She couldn’t face admitting she’d made such a huge mistake and was so determined she isolated herself in London.

While I was still trying to process all of that, the inevitable gentle advice blew in like a cold winter breeze. Both of my parents were successful in their careers, and both have ended up alone with no one to share their achievements. Mum has me; grown up and moved away, she has Adela; the sister she’s too embarrassed to confide in. Dad has had a string of affairs, none lasting more than a few months, and his only daughter hasn’t spoken to him in years. With a hard squeeze on my shoulder she ordered me out of the house for some fun, and then told me to go home and find a way to make it work.

So I called Anna and arranged to have dinner with them after all.

“Me too.” I smile and turn to Anna and Antonia, stifling a chuckle at her broken Italian. “At least tonight you won’t have to translate alone.”

“I’ve refused to translate for them anymore,” he says with a laugh. “Probably why they never leave the bedroom.”

He drapes his arm around my waist as we walk toward the restaurant.

“Carlo, I need you to know I can’t offer you anything. Even if I could we’re leaving in the morning.”

“I know. One date will just have to be enough.”

With that out of the way I can at least relax a bit, and I find him so easy to talk to that we’re practically booted out when the restaurant closes. Zia’s house is only a short walk on the way to Antonio and Carlo’s, so we walk a little ahead of them.

“You’re welcome to come back for a drink,” he says without a shred of subtlety.

“Thank you, but no. I need to finish packing for tomorrow, it’s late.”

“ _Dolcezza,_ please do not leave me with these two!” He gestures back to the mess of arms and tongues behind us who have momentarily paused against a wall.

“I’m sorry, Carlo. You’re going to have to put up with them for one more night.”

“I guess after Patrick you’re a little hesitant?”

He says it so casually, like the whole ordeal is common knowledge. I actually stop walking to make sure I heard correctly and he almost trips over me.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you know about Patrick?”

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Carlo, who told you?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I just heard you had… uh… an affair. During filming.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. It’s nothing to worry about, it happens all the time. Look at Anna with _mio fratello_.”

“That’s not the same… does everyone know?”

“I suppose so. I’m sorry to bring it up, I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not your fault, I really need to get inside. Thank you for a lovely dinner, I’m glad I changed my mind.”

He rests a hand on my hip and leans in, leaving a soft lingering kiss on my cheek. His lips are warm and smooth, his sweet citrus scent fills my head, and with all the romance of an Italian summer it would be so easy to let myself be swept up in him.

But he’s not my Seb, and I’m not ready to give up.

“Sweet dreams, _tesorino_.”

“See you in the morning, Anna?”

She doesn’t break the kiss, just gives me a thumbs up behind Antonio’s back. I roll my eyes and make my way up the path to Adela’s house, shaking off what Carlo said with a hot shower before bed.

I will not give that asshole another second of my thoughts. Tomorrow I will leave the entire encounter behind me and I’ve arranged a meeting with an old friend and mentor next week who I hope can guide me into a better work-life balance and a fighting chance at saving my marriage.


	10. Appearances

##  **Sebastian**

Victoria does not do things by halves. I don’t know who she bribed to get this apartment but it’s perfect and now that I’ve got most of my stuff unpacked it only looks vaguely like a bachelor pad. I’m not lost, I have a home, and I’m back in control of my life.

Sleeping in until eight is my new favourite thing in the world and I intend to indulge in it daily as long as I can. After a run and a workout that makes me wish I hadn’t backed off a little while I was filming I start the walk home via the coffee shop on the corner. I must be insane craving anything hot in this melt-right-into-the-pavement weather, and flicking through The Times it seems to be all that anyone is concerned with.

“Sebastian?”

I look up assuming my coffee is ready and instead find Matt, a good mate I haven’t seen in far too long.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

“Great, good to be home for a bit. Just got done filming in Naples with Tulia, actually. You in town long?”

“A few weeks. What’s new with you?”

“Well, Amy’s pregnant. So, about six months and I’ll be a dad.”

“That’s awesome, congratulations.”

“Thanks, man. Actually, we’re having a party this weekend for my birthday. You should come if you don’t have any plans.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll text you when I get home. Really good to see you,” he says as I take my cup.

“You too, I’ll see you in a few days.”

* * *

My new apartment came mostly furnished, and it has this amazing chair in front of the living room doors. The sliding screens open onto a small terrace where the afternoon breeze blows right into this chair and I swear this is the only comfortable place to be in the whole of New York right now.

Aside from the pool at the Soho House, which is more like the sardine house on days like this.

Victoria tells me this amazing chair is an Eames lounger and was the thing that caught her eye when she first looked at the apartment for me. I don’t give a shit what it’s called, it’s the most sublime piece of furniture I’ve ever had the pleasure of parking my ass in and it is my life’s ambition to make sure I have one in every place I’m expected to sit more than five minutes.

In nothing but a pair of shorts I sink into it with a script I’ve been asked to look at while the occasional puff of warm air from outside does absolutely nothing to cool me down. Matt’s party is this evening and I’m looking forward to catching up with a few mates I haven’t seen in a while, we’ve all been working away so much the closest we get is text messages and facebook. Funny how we thought living in the same city would ensure we kept in touch.

The vibration of my phone startles me awake, I didn’t even realise I’d closed my eyes.

“Hey Michelle, what’s up?” I slur, trying to wipe the fatigue from my eyes.

“I’m in your backyard, thought I’d give you a call.”

“I hope to god you mean that figuratively, because stalking is illegal here.”

“Nice place. Wish you’d put some clothes on, though.” She laughs.

“You know me too well.”

“Can we catch up tonight?”

“Uh… I’m actually going to a party at a mate’s house. Can we do another night?”

“Not really, I’ve got a couple of afternoons free next week but that’s it.”

“Let me call him and check, but it shouldn’t be a problem if you want to come. It’s Matt Houston, you’ve probably met.”

She starts to laugh. “God it’s a small world, I was on the group text he sent out. We worked together last year.”

“Well then, do you want to come here first? It’s only a couple of blocks from here and we can go somewhere after if you want.”

“Perfect.”

Once she’s written down the directions to get to my building I finish reading before a quick shower and I’m just pulling on my jeans and shirt when she rings the bell. We might have had sex recently but that doesn’t make me keen on answering the door naked.

She was cool about that whole thing and we’ve brushed it off. I know if I asked she’d be keen for more, but I can’t give it to her while I’m still holding that last tiny hope for Tulia and I. The conversation we had when I left wasn’t so much ‘I want a divorce’ as ‘let’s see how we feel about not being together’ if I remember it correctly, and I really have no idea how she feels.

Come to think of it I’m not sure how I feel, either. I saw some pictures of her last week and while I know not to give them much credence she was clearly on a date with an Italian set designer. They were at the beach together – she appears to have been bikini shopping since we split and that orange patterned number looked so fucking hot on her I was actually hard looking at her with another man – and clearly flirting in the water. And then that night a romantic restaurant date – with Anna by her side and another man – where they left hand in hand. Could be nothing, but Tulia’s face and body always give her away, and she looks relaxed and happy, not to mention so beautifully tanned she’s got her mother’s deep Italian olive colouring going on. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with that much colour, she’s radiant and glowing and I don’t think it’s too big a leap to assume she took some time for a holiday with her new man.

My imagination might be running away with me and the more I think about it the more my chest aches, so generally I just push it aside and focus on something else. And that’s the story of how I spend so much time working out that Don actually kicked me out twice last week.

“Hey, you,” Michelle reaches up on her toes and I lean down so she can kiss my cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“How are you really?” She eyes me sideways as I close the door behind her.

“I’m good, really.”

“Wow. Who did you have to blow to score this?”

“Victoria,” I say with a laugh. “And I pay her enough without oral sex. She’s outdone herself with this place.”

“Are you still hoping it’s temporary?”

“I don’t know.” I take two beers from the fridge and hand her one.

“I saw the stories last week, that must have stung a bit.”

“Yeah, I don’t normally believe a word of it but some of those pictures were a little obvious. She’s not the type to flirt accidentally, if she makes physical contact with you it’s calculated. If she’s happy then I’m happy for her.”

“You almost sound like you mean that.”

“I want to. I put us through this agony in the hope that she’d be happier, so…” I shrug.

“You hoped she’d be miserable without you, huh?”

“I… no. If she was, I have no idea how we would have fixed it. Other than me giving up acting and taking a job that keeps me busy wherever she goes.”

“Or her doing the same.”

“That was never going to happen. For either of us. There’s really no happy ending, I guess. It is what it is. I haven’t spoken to her, though. She’s still in Italy.”

“Well… you know I won’t wait around for you, but I’m putting it out there like I should have done years ago. If ever the timing is right and you’re interested, let me know.”

“I will keep that in mind, Chelle. For right now, I’m going to enjoy my amazing apartment. Have you seen this chair? Why did I not know about these before?”

There’s a hint of a frown on Matt’s face when he opens the door to Michelle and me but he covers it quickly with a warm smile. He pulls me aside within a few minutes while she’s getting drinks.

“Dude, what the hell happened with Tulia?”

“You know how it is, she was here and I was there,” I hold up my hands on either side of my chest, “and we just… couldn’t do it anymore.”

“So you and Michelle?”

“Nah, we’re just friends. She was in town and tonight was the only night she was free so we’re going out later, that’s all.”

“I’m not accusing you, just wondering.”

“So this set designer she’s been hanging out with, what’s he like?”

“Who? I thought she was getting it on with Patrick.”

“Patrick is a douchebag, Lu wouldn’t go there.”

“That’s what I thought, but he was saying they had some sort of fling. Can’t have ended well, though, she threw a glass of champagne at him at the wrap party.”

“She what?” All I can do is laugh, because that is absolutely something she’d do. I’ve never seen it in action, but I imagine in her early dating years it happened often. My Tulia doesn’t take anyone’s shit.

“Glass and all. And then I walked her home, I’m not sure what that was about, either. Anna made her promise not to drink and made me swear to escort her inside her room.”

“That doesn’t sound like Tulia.”

“No. I reckon he was spreading bullshit, or he tried something. Who’s the set designer?”

“Italian guy, she’s been out with him a couple of times I think. She stayed after you guys wrapped.”

“Yeah, she was on holiday with…” a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Anna. The guy is Carlo and Anna is with his brother. Good guy.”

“Good.”

“Seb, we both know she wouldn’t be straight into anything serious. I’d be surprised if she’s anywhere near ready for another man.”

He doesn’t know what her libido is like. She might not be up for anything serious but I doubt she’ll stay away from men altogether. The thought makes me sick to my stomach – half at the thought of her with another man on top of her and half out of guilt – I’d been deluding myself that her fairly extensive collection of toys would keep her satisfied when I wasn’t around. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

“Anyway. We agreed to try separating to see if we were happier apart than together, and it looks like I have my answer.”

“Are you? Happier?”

“I like not having to deal with the fighting.”

Does that make me happier, make it hurt less to see her with other men, make me miss her any less? No. Maybe it hurts less frequently, I’m reminded of her absence less often as the days pass, but am I happier?

Too hard to answer and too soon to tell.

“Well I invited her but I don’t think she’s coming.”

“She was staying in Sorrento with her family, I don’t think she has anything on for a month or so.”

“She took another job with Dom in between, she was telling me about it.”

“Right then,” I chuckle. “I should go find Michelle, she was getting me a drink.”

Michelle definitely doesn’t need any assistance from me, she knows almost as many people here as I do. It’s not a huge gathering, around forty people, so even though we’re milling around we somehow keep bumping in to one another and again I’m reminded how easy things are with her. I’ve somehow found myself leaning against the railing on my own, taking a break from the noise, when she threads her arms around my waist and hands me a beer.

“Thanks. What are you up to?”

“Just spotted you over here alone, thought I’d make sure you’re ok.”

“Yeah, I just needed a minute.”

“You want to get out of here?”

“Soon, yeah. I want to say hi to Amy and a couple of others unless you’re in a rush.”

“Not at all. We don’t have to do anything else tonight either, if you just want to call it a night.”

“We’ll see. I kind of wish we had more time. All of us. We should all take a break and go on a holiday together so I can spend some quality time with all my friends.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You really think there’s something between us?”

She shrugs. “I like hanging out with you. Everything just seems so easy, it makes me wonder if that means something.”

“Maybe.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, gazing up at me and dancing with mischief. It almost feels too comfortable, too familiar, too simple, but I press my lips gently against hers and a light hand rests on my chest. As I pull back I smile as I see the faintest blush in her cheeks.

“Give me another half hour and we’ll go.”

She nods and takes a mouthful of drink as I turn to leave, beginning my search for Matt’s girlfriend, Amy. It’s forgotten as soon as I’m near the door to go back inside, when my skin prickles with goosebumps. I don’t even have to look up, I can feel her.

Tulia is standing at the window beside the open doors with a glass of wine in her hand and an almost undetectable hint of tears in her eyes. She squares her shoulders as I approach, shaking off what I assume she just saw and tucking her emotions safely back in place behind her usual external wall.

In spite of that, she looks absolutely stunning, so much so that I stop short for a few moments to take her in. Her skin is so bronzed and silken it shimmers ike the thin gold chain around her neck catching the light, her hair smooth and straight and tucked behind one ear. Since I saw her last she’s noticeably slimmer, her waist so narrow I think I could get my hands around it with ease and her full breasts almost out of proportion. She wears a dress that hugs her curves tight in sky blue, showing her toned arms and shoulders, and those killer legs look even longer with her nude heels and a hint of red toenail polish.

Apparently she’s doing just fine on her own.

“Sebastian,” she says quietly when I’m in earshot. “How are you?”

‘“Great, you?”

“Just had a really good break in Italy, can’t complain.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“Oh. Slow news day, obviously.”

“You look amazing, Tulia.”

“You too. Did you find an apartment?”

“Yeah, just a couple of blocks away. I got really lucky. Matt says the filming went well?”

“It was full on and I’m glad it’s over, but we got it done. Beautiful location.”

I want to ask if she’s seeing someone. Is it my business when we’re separated? Do I retain the right to ask about her personal life until we’re divorced, or did I lose it when I suggested time apart and slept with Michelle? Fuck, this is a minefield.

“You’re off on another project shortly?”

“Just a short one. Will you be using the other apartment?”

“Nah, I’m off on a press tour for a couple of months. It’s all yours.”

“I guess we should decide what to do about all that sort of stuff.”

“Yeah. No hurry, we were never there at the same time before so I doubt it will happen anytime soon.”

Just ask. Is this it? Are we done? Is it time to split assets already?

“I won’t be there the rest of the year, so…”

Too late I realise Michelle has her hand on my back, she’s seen me talking but not who I’m with. It’s removed quickly as though I’ve burned her when she sees Tulia.

“Hi, Michelle,” her face lights up in genuine welcome, and they hug briefly. “What are you doing in New York?”

“Just visiting for some meetings, a couple of events. How are you? You look fantastic!”

“Thanks. A week on the beach will do that. You look great, too.”

“I look like I could do with a week on the beach,” she says, holding her much lighter arm against Tulia’s and chuckling.

“Are you going to the women’s arts dinner thing on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“I’ll look for you there.”

I know she saw us, even if it was just a fleeting moment. An outsider would assume she’s not hurting at all, that seeing her husband kissing another woman didn’t faze her in the slightest, but I know her better. I have to admire her class, she could easily have brushed us both off and we’d understand.

I refuse to believe she’s not hurt. She’s just an expert at putting up a front and a brave face. This is one of those things I simultaneously loved and hated about her – it’s admirable that she can continue with her usual elegance in a situation like this rather than turn out her inner bitch, but it was also the root of a lot of our problems, this lack of communication and displaying emotion. The inner bitch was reserved only for me, and now I’m not even worth that.

For a few moments I watch them in conversation; the wife I’ve separated from and the woman who’s likely to be my future partner; and although I’m sure this won’t be my new normal I feel a sort of pride in them both.

I’m saved by Amy approaching us and once I’ve congratulated her on the pregnancy Michelle and I decide to make an exit before things get messy.

“You’re really quiet,” she says on the walk home. “You ok?”

“Yeah. I think… she seems happy, right? Not floating on the ceiling, but she was relaxed and healthy and she doesn’t look gutted and heartbroken. Right?”

“She looks amazing, and she did seem pretty content. Not like the love of her life has been taken away or she made a huge mistake. She didn’t see anything, did she?”

I nod slowly. “A bit, I think. I’m kind of… part of me is relieved. She was talking about dividing up property so I think that’s her way of saying it’s over. I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t find the words. Probably should do that in private, anyway.”

“You know I have a lot of respect for Tulia, she’s someone I really admire, she has a lot of poise and grace. We can’t know what’s going on in her head, and I’m not really in a position to be objective, but I agree with you. I think she’s doing ok, maybe she likes not fighting with you, too.”

My chest constricts and I hate to admit it but I wanted her to miss me, to want me back even if it’s impossible.

“I know you want more from me, Michelle. I can’t… we literally just separated a matter of weeks ago. Not saying we can’t date, but it would have to be a casual thing. You’re gonna feel like the rebound girl and I don’t-”

“Hey,” she stops me with a hand on my chest and faces me, looking up at my face until I meet her eyes. “I know you, Seb. I know how our lives work. Why don’t we just go out when we can and see where it goes? It’s not like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the near future.”

“How does a movie on my couch sound as a starting point?”

“Perfect.”

She reaches up on tippy toes to kiss my cheek and I drape an arm around her shoulders.


	11. Down the Middle

##  **Tulia**

**_Six months later_ **

The steady slicing of envelopes comes to a screeching halt across the desk and I feel Anna’s eyes on me for a few counts before she shatters the silence by clearing her throat.  
“What?” I ask, looking up to find her holding a thick staple of paperwork.  
“What is this?”  
I squint at the title and letterhead. “Exactly what it says, it’s a proposed division of assets.”  
“You did this?”  
“Someone had to.” I pull my cardigan tighter around my shoulders. “Is it cold in here?”  
“A little, yeah. You want me to turn the heat up?”  
“First day of winter, I suppose it makes sense. I’ll do it.”  
She follows me out of the office to the living room. “So you started proceedings for divorce and forgot to tell me?”  
“I spoke to a lawyer and got the boring practical stuff underway, that’s all. Actually I’d like you to have a look and make sure it’s fair, the lawyer was the ‘hit him where it hurts’ type and I’d rather just split everything evenly.”  
“Sure.” She looks down at the papers while I pull out cups to make coffee. “Sweetie, you pay me to do that now.”  
“No, I pay you to do what I tell you.” I shoot a sweet smile over my shoulder.  
While I’m steaming the milk I notice she has a pencil in her hand and is making notes on her pink notepad. Things are never good when Anna is taking notes, usually she just goes along with whatever I say and only writes things down when I tell her to.

“I have some concerns,” she says when we’re seated back in the office.  
“Hit me,” I sigh.  
“When we left Sorrento, you were coming home to work it out and you haven’t spoken to him since then.”  
“I saw him with another woman, a woman he’s still dating six months later. I think it’s safe to say we’re done, don’t you think?”  
“How do you know if you don’t ask?”  
“Because he’s moved on! He ain’t coming back, Anna.”  
“So you’re just going to send this to him with divorce papers?”  
“That was the plan.”  
“You’re not even going to talk to him?”  
“I have no ill feelings, but he knows where I am. If he wanted to talk-”  
“So do you. You could call him.”  
“He broke my heart, Anna!” I push back the chair and stand up, pacing slowly to the window and back. “Have you forgotten? I come back all ready to give it another shot, go to that party knowing he’ll be there, and catch him kissing his ex.”  
“The Tulia I know doesn’t give up so easily.”  
“She hadn’t been through what I have.”  
I wish I’d foreseen her reaction and taken that letter from the pile to open myself, the last thing I wanted to do today was dredge all of this up again.

The night of Matt’s party I watched Sebastian leave hand in hand with Michelle and after already seeing them kiss it was the last straw in a long and difficult couple of months. Anna was in Florida, my husband was with another woman, and as I walked home alone every painful moment I’d experienced in Italy and during the last months of our marriage bowled me over like a rogue wave. I cleared out every trace of him when I got home, leaving the canvas wedding print as the last memorial to be wrapped and put in the spare bedroom along with all the other photographs and the wedding rings I’d hastily removed when I first caught sight of him hours earlier.

Crying isn’t something I do often – at all if I can help it – but when I fell into bed just before sunrise the next morning I found his scent still lingering on his pillow and it was like releasing the final latch on the floodgates. I sobbed until my throat was raw and my lips cracked, my eyes swollen and still red three days later.   
The next day I replaced the bedding, too.

I’m accustomed to it now, seeing pictures of them out and about on dates when they’re in the same city. I know they suffer the same problem we did, the job taking them in opposite directions, but they seem to make time to be together more successfully than we did. Truly I want them to be happy, they both deserve that much. I spent a bit of time with Michelle at an event a few days after Matt’s party and she’s one of those infuriating women you just can’t hate even if you want to.

Taking the last minute job with Dom had the added benefit of getting me introduced to a few new producers and directors and ever since the job offers have come so thick and fast I had to make Anna my full time assistant to help juggle it all. She’s amazing, handling the contract negotiation, scheduling, and liaising with the important people like she’s been doing it all her life. Next year’s projects are already pencilled in and I’m knocking back more work than I can possibly take on – the sacrifices and endless hard work are finally paying off.

“One other thing, then. She’s calculated all this based on earning potential with you as the higher income.”   
“If you look at the actual division, I wanted down the middle split and that’s what she’s done. I don’t need his money.”   
“It’s supposed to factor in the income you brought to the marriage, though. You were running yourself ragged and made way more in the beginning.”   
“Yes, but I don’t care. I get this place, he gets Los Angeles, anything surplus is split between us.”   
“You’ve undervalued this place, you’re saying a townhouse in Manhattan is equal to a Venice apartment.”   
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve put in an enquiry on an apartment next door, I think I might downsize after Christmas.”   
She leans back and runs her hand through her hair in frustration. “You love this house!”   
“Yeah, but it holds too many memories. I’d only be moving next door, everything else would be the same. I don’t need all of this space for one person.”   
“Tulia, are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”   
I take a deep breath and nod. “I don’t know why you’re surprised, we’ve been separated all this time. All the pictures and his things are gone, he’s in a new relationship. Why is it such a big deal now?”   
“You’re saying the ‘d’ word now, it seems so final.”   
“That’s the point.” I sit back down and start sorting through the pile of opened mail, hoping she’ll take the hint. She doesn’t.   
“If you want my advice–”   
“I don’t.”   
“I know. But you’re getting it anyway. Talk to him first. If you’re going to do this, do it in person.”   
I scowl at her for a few seconds. “Ok. You schedule it so it fits in for both of us, and I’ll do it. Before the end of the year.”   
Why do I give her challenges like this when I know I’ll regret it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Weeks later we’re wrapping up our last film before Christmas and I’m flooded with relief at finishing a major project with Patrick without any drama. He still makes my skin crawl, he still seems to attract women like moths to a flame, but I no longer feel anxious about working with him.   
“Christmas in London for you, Tulia?” Dom asks as we’re packing up.   
“Just for a few days, yeah.”

Once I returned from Sorrento I tried to talk to mama about spending Christmas with Zia Adela and her family but she shut me down pretty quickly. I wish she’d talk to her sister and get that relationship back, realise that they don’t think less of her because she didn’t listen to their warnings about my father, but this is one of the few ways we are incredibly similar. The harder I push the more she’ll resist, I have to hope I’ve planted the seed and given it enough water and sun for her to get there on her own. In the meantime I’m spending four days with her over Christmas, the first I’ve spent in London since I met Sebastian.

“And then?”   
“You’d have to direct that query to my walking calendar here,” I throw an arm around Anna’s shoulder as she walks by, “because I have no idea except that I’m booked up for most of the year already.”   
“That is fantastic news. I heard you were knocking back work now, being able to choose is the best position to be in.”   
“Feels pretty good,” I say with a smug grin. “I’ll catch up with you tonight?”   
“Sure will. I’ll buy you a drink.”   
“It’s an open bar, Dom.”   
“Then I’ll buy you two,” he says with a laugh.   
Anna hands me a candy pink business card with a stylised steaming coffee cup and an address on one side, a date and time in her fluid, looped script on the other.   
“You have a coffee date with Sebastian before you fly out to London.”   
Damn her and her efficiency.   
“Right, then. I actually received the drawn up divorce papers yesterday so that works out well.”   
“You’re not fooling me, miss ‘it’s done and I don’t care’. Talk to him first.”   
“You just arranged for me to hand him divorce papers on Christmas Eve, don’t be implying that I’m the heartless one.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I’m sure every time a cocktail waitress laughs a new Manhattan bar gets its liquor licence – they open and close in the blink of an eye. The one we’re in this evening is no exception, having opened only a matter of days ago with the hottest barman and the tiniest canapes I’ve seen since my last trip to Paris. I’m sure the entire premise of the business is to get everyone thoroughly inebriated in record time, and if this man continues handing me on-the-house cocktails he’ll have succeeded on one count at least. The official festivities are over and the party seems to be winding down – I think we’re all so exhausted it will be a tame one.   
“You’re drunk,” Anna says in my ear as she pulls up the stool beside mine.   
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”   
“What is that?” She gestures to the glittering rainbow I’m sipping from a martini glass.   
“I have absolutely no idea, and it is every bit as magical as it looks.”   
“You’re drunk,” she says again.   
“I’m really not, this is only my second drink and I was smart enough to eat before I left home.”   
“Good girl.” She cocks her head and snarls. “Incoming.”   
I don’t have to look to know it’s Patrick, she reserves that face just for him.   
“Vodka and soda. Double vodka, please, and a straight rum,” I hear him say over my shoulder.   
Anna waits until he’s gone to go for the bathroom while ‘Adonis with a shaker’ makes me another cocktail; this time bright blue with quite the sting in its tail.   
“What do you think?” he asks, leaning over the bar so I can see his shirt straining over his chest and shoulders.   
“The last one was like riding a unicorn through fairyland, this one is more like those blue poisonous frogs that are all pretty and mesmerising right up until you’re dying.”   
“Noted,” he says with a laugh. “Last cocktails are at midnight, by the way. That’s when I finish my shift.” As he turns his attention to another one of our party I’m 99% sure that statement ended with a wink. Perhaps I’m so desperate I imagined it.   
As soon as she’s back beside me I grab Anna’s arm. “I think I’m ready to get back on the horse,” I hiss into her ear.   
“Would I be right in assuming your stallion of choice is the one behind the bar?”   
“Perhaps.”   
She looks him up and down without a shred of subtlety. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Got condoms?”   
“Yes.” I pat my purse.   
He returns and rests his elbows on the bar. “What’s your name, doll? Maybe I can name ‘unicorn in fairyland’ after you.”   
“Tulia,” I say, hiding a shudder. Of all the terms of endearment he’d have to choose the one Sebastian called every woman but me. He always said I needed something more unique because I was his one and only, but I always kind of wanted to be his doll.   
“Where are you from? I’ve never heard that before.”   
“I’m from London but my name is Welsh.”   
“Ah, right. Can I interest you in something more private, Tulia? My place is just a couple of blocks away.”   
“Mine isn’t far either, take your pick.”   
“I’ll meet you right here in ten minutes.”   
Anna slaps my back. “You’ve got that emergency app I installed on your phone if you need me, yeah?”   
“Yep. I’ll be fine.”   
“I’m heading home then, Antonio will be calling shortly. Night, hun. Have fun.”   
“I will,” I say with a wink.

Just as I’m finishing my drink I spot Patrick’s latest target and my blood runs cold. She’s clearly hammered, he’s literally holding her upright with an arm around her shoulders. For a split second I consider turning a blind eye – because what the hell, everyone else is – and hoping if he does the same to her she has more courage than I do, but I can’t let this happen again. I won’t.

Disgust propels me forward, until now I hadn’t recognised her but I do now as part of his team, on her first film if I remember correctly. I look around for Dom or someone else I can trust but don’t see anyone, nor do I see anyone who might take care of Emma, his prey. Adonis the barman – who’s real name is Adam, which is close enough – appears from behind the bar just as I’m walking away, and I gesture to him asking for just a minute to sort this out.   
“Emma, right?” I search her groggy eyes for recognition.   
“Tulia? Oh my god Tulia Campbell knows my name!”   
“Yeah, honey, I do. Listen, I’m going to get you into a cab.”   
“No no, Patrick has promised to take care of me.”   
“Patrick is a filthy, abusive, fuckwit who will definitely not take care of you. If you still want to sleep with him in the morning I’ll give you his number myself. For right now you need to go home and sleep it off.”   
“Oh,” she giggles. “I wasn’t going to sleep with him.”   
“What do you think you’re doing?” he growls. “Fuck off and mind your own business.”   
“It is my business. You are not going to pull the same shit on another woman. I’m getting her home.”   
“Emma wants to come home with me, don’t you, gorgeous? She knows what’s good for her.”   
“You make me sick. Let her go.”   
“Can I have a word?” Dom says in my ear.   
“I will give you a full and complete explanation in writing if you like, but I need to get her away from him first.”   
“All right, OK.” Dom raises his palms in surrender and takes Emma’s opposite arm. “This way.”   
“I’ll be right behind you, gorgeous,” Patrick yells when we block him from entering the same cab.   
“We need to talk first, Pat,” he says while grabbing Patrick’s arm, guiding him back inside and speaking quietly to one of the club security guards on the way past.

Naturally by this time Adonis aka Adam aka my ‘ride’ for the evening has decided it’s not worth the drama and gone home, leaving me to face a very flustered Dom in the corner.   
“What was that about?”   
“I can’t… not now. Just trust me when I say she was far too drunk to make decisions and he was completely taking advantage. He was buying her doubles and I doubt she even knows.”   
“I assume this sudden lack of faith in your colleague comes from experience?”   
“Yes.”   
“That’s good enough for me, although I wish you’d said something sooner.”   
“Dom?” I say as he turns to leave. He stops and turns back to face me. “Thanks. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”   
He pulls me into a tight hug, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Of course I believe you. Now get gone before this gets ugly.”

Within a few seconds there’s an exchange of heated words and I realise there’s only one way out, back past them to the front door. I can only hope there’s enough people still milling around that I can escape unnoticed.   
“You happy now, whore?”   
Apparently not.   
“Can’t handle her alcohol, that one. Cheated on her husband and then cried rape to cover her own arse. It wasn’t rape when you were begging me to go faster!”   
Clenching my fists, I pick up my pace and don’t look back when I hear a scuffle behind me. The door and street are in sight, there’s a cab waiting right outside, and I’m about to reach for it when in the glass panel I see his reflection lunge at me. I’d like to think if I were in this situation again I’d just dodge out of the way and let him fly through on his own, but in reality it’s too late for anything so agile.  
We both crash through, shattering the glass and landing with a nauseating crunch on the pavement.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Doctor said it best: ‘a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff’. That is the only way I can accurately describe the following hours. People rush around, there are flashing lights and paramedics telling me how lucky I am, Patrick being taken away by a police officer in an ambulance because he’s ‘in shock’ – which I find hilarious even at the time – and then nurses and doctors and scan after scan after scan. I’m starting to feel like a leper at this point, they’re tip-toeing around me like I might just dissolve into a gelatinous glob of uncontrolled bleeding because to everyone’s surprise I’ve gone through a glass door and barely spilled a drop.   
“It’s a miracle of laminated glass. Please can I go home now?”   
Dom is beside me looking like he might actually be in shock himself and he frowns as though I’m joking while the doctor gives me a patronising smile.   
“Not yet, we need a repeat CT in another couple of hours and I’m going to send a nurse to give you a thorough check for any glass we might have missed. I’m afraid you’ll be sporting some lovely bruises for Christmas but other than some soft tissue damage in your shoulder everything else looks good. We’ve called your hematologist, she’d like to see you before you leave and we need to monitor for a few more hours.”   
“The cops want to speak to you, too.” Dom puts a hand on my other shoulder.   
“Ok.” I lay my head back against the pile of pillows and close my eyes against the blinding fluorescent lights. “Go home, Dom. I’m fine.”   
“I’m not leaving you on your own.”   
I open my mouth to argue but my brain is too tired to make more words.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time I’m ready to be discharged it’s early evening; in the interim Dr Elliott gives my blood the all clear and informs me that the lack of blood loss was actually thanks to a drip they started when I first arrived, but it means I had to be monitored for twelve hours. I’ve had fifteen tiny glass shards taken from my chest, arm, and face; my favourite jeans were snagged on the sharp edge of the shattered door and ruined; my cheek is held together with superglue; and I’m sporting a nice red wine bruise from my face to my upper right arm that looks like I was attacked with mixed berry coulis.   
Also I’m deliriously hungry.   
Anna has saved the day with clean clothes and while I’m getting dressed Dom comes back with the best looking grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever seen. My mood has markedly improved when the cops appear in the doorway with one of the nurses.   
“You ok to talk to the police now, Tulia?”   
I nod and she closes the door softly behind her while the officers introduce themselves and show me their badges. “Just Nicole and Nathan is fine,” she says with a smile. “Can you tell us what happened?”   
Anna and Dom both remain seated and silent while I recount the events of last night, from his buying Emma’s drinks to tackling me into the door.   
“Do you have a history with Patrick?” Nicole asks.   
“Yes,” I say with a sigh. “He did almost exactly the same to me while we were working together in Naples.”   
“Did you file a report?”   
I shake my head. “He threatened me, said I’d never work again if I said anything. I figured it was just me, I was heavily intoxicated and I should have been more careful.”   
“There’s evidence, though. The medical centre took pictures,” Anna chimes in before I can stop her.   
“Can you take me through what happened over there?”   
Without meeting anyone’s eyes I lay it all out, ignoring Anna’s sniffles and Dom’s groans. I hoped the details would never see the light of day and here I am describing it to a room full of captive audience.   
“We can pursue criminal charges, Tulia,” Nicole says gently. “For last night and the sexual assault.”   
“I just want it to be over. I put it behind me, I didn’t think he’d do it again.”   
She hands me her card and takes my details, letting me know they’ll be in touch and to call if I think of anything.   
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Dom says as soon as they’re gone.   
“Because it’s true, if I’d said anything no one would work with me. They’d be worried I’d drink too much and charge someone with assault. It sucks, and I wish I was that strong, outspoken woman who didn’t give a shit about her job, but that’s not me.”   
“You’re right,” his voice shakes with emotion. “But I’m your friend, and you could have told me without telling the world. You get her home safe, Anna.” He closes the door behind him.   
“The world knows now, honey. I’m sorry. We’re going out through the ambulance bay.”   
I nod and pick up my bag.   
“Your phone was going nuts, I just sent a text out saying you were ok and would get back to everyone when you were up to it. And you need to call your mum, did the doctor say you can still go to London?”   
“Yeah.”   
This is one of those rare occasions I wish my mother lived closer. She’d say ‘I told you so’ or something about not trusting men, and we’d probably argue about it, but I’m tired and sore and I can’t wait to see her.   
I throw my arms around Anna and she squeezes me in a painfully tight hug. “I really want my mama.”


	12. Whiteout

## 

Sebastian

_Tulia is ok, just some cuts and bruises and she will be released from hospital this evening. I’ve passed on your well wishes and she’ll get back to you when she’s up to it xx Anna_   
I call Anna’s phone immediately but it goes to voicemail. A few seconds later I poke hurriedly at the answer button when it rings in my hand.   
“Anna? What happened?”   
“Seb, it’s me. Do you ever bother looking at the screen?” Michelle says. I can hear the smile in her voice and I know even at this distance that she’s shaking her head.   
“Sorry, I just called Anna and I thought she was calling me back.”   
“I was just checking you got the message. Did you hear what happened?”   
“No, did you?”   
“It came up on my Google feed because of you I guess… she was in some sort of fight in a bar and went through a glass door. With Patrick.”   
My hands ball into fists. “Fuck. A bar fight? Really?”   
“I don’t think she was actually fighting, I get the impression she was sort of collateral damage. There was some sort of altercation between them, though. Some bartender said she was trying to help some other woman and Patrick wanted to take her home.”   
“None of that makes the slightest amount of sense.”   
“I know. That’s tabloid gossip too, so…”   
“I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow for coffee.”   
“I’m sure she’s fine, Seb. Anna wouldn’t say she was if she wasn’t. Why don’t you go see her?”   
“It’s dark, it’s snowing, and I’m probably among the last people she wants to see right now.”   
“When are your parents arriving?”   
“Tomorrow evening. I’ll be there when they get home, surprise them with dinner. It won’t be traditional Christmas Eve dinner but I’ll do my best.”   
“I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”   
“Two more sleeps, sweet.”   
“Your parents are expecting me, right?”   
“Of course. I can’t wait to introduce you.”   
“I’ll let you go in case Anna calls, let me know if I can do anything or you need to talk.Could you text me when you know she’s ok?”   
“I will.”   
After I hang up I stand at the window and watch the snow fall outside. This is my favourite time of year, when it’s cold and the first snow falls there’s a magic in the air that makes anything possible.   
According to the messages on my phone there’s a storm coming for Christmas, a bad one. Nor’easter (a term that still sounds silly to me even after all this time in the States), extratropical cyclone, blizzard; they’re all giving it a different name but they’re agreed it will be huge and catastrophic and impact early on Christmas day.   
I’ve tried to tell Michelle her flight might be in jeopardy, that we might not see one another for a few more days, but she’s determined her positive attitude will keep it away until she’s landed safely. I’m not sharing her optimism but I’m not going to argue with her, either.   
Mom has been surprisingly understanding about meeting Michelle, albeit with reminders at every opportunity that Tulia and I are still married. I’ve lovingly requested she not do that in front of my new girlfriend and I trust her to respect that but I can’t deny my own awkwardness at the whole situation. It still feels more like a friends with benefits arrangement than a serious relationship and while I love her in a platonic way and always will I’m yet to get that stomach-drop of falling IN love with her. I want to, I hope spending more time with her when we get the chance will encourage that, but what we have now is… nice. I hate that word but it’s the best one that fits. It’s nice. When we can get together we do, and we have an amazing time together with fun dates and good sex; when we can’t we chat in messages and talk on the phone every few days, have the occasional Skype sex. It’s nice. Like a warm cup of tea and a crocheted blanket in fall.

When Anna finally calls me late that night I startle awake; the roar of wind outside is almost drowning out the ringing phone and it was the vibration in my hand that woke me.   
“Anna, thank god. Is she all right?”   
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. I can’t talk long, I’m about to get on a plane but give her a call in the morning. She doesn’t want to go out tomorrow, obviously.”   
“I understand that. What happened?”   
“She saw Patrick taking advantage of another woman and intervened.”   
My hands ball into fists again. “That’s my Tulia.”   
“Yeah. You’ll have to ask her the rest yourself. She’s ok, I wouldn’t leave if she wasn’t. A few stitches and pretty bad bruising but they gave her an iv when she arrived so she didn’t bleed too much.”   
“I’m really glad you’re taking care of her, Anna. Have a beautiful Christmas.”   
“You, too. Take care, Seb.”   
I toss and turn for an hour before getting up to peer through the window like an excited child. It’s officially Christmas Eve now, through the flurry outside I can just make out enough landmarks to know there’s a thick blanket of snow covering everything on the ground, and it shows no sign of stopping. For the first time I start to worry about Mom’s flight as well, whether they’ll still make it home for Christmas. The storm wasn’t supposed to hit for another 36 hours, giving them plenty of time to get home.   
_God, I hope so._

## 

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

I take an involuntary step back when Tulia opens the door, barely gathering myself before she steps aside to allow me through. Purple bruising and grazes peek out from the edges of a bright white gauze dressing on her cheek, creeping toward a swollen and almost black eye. Along the line of her v-neck sweater more cranberry-coloured blotches disappear toward her shoulder and chest, and when she closes the door behind me I catch a wince on her face.   
“Hey. Sorry about the last minute change,” she says softly. Apologetically, which isn’t the Tulia I know at all.   
The roads outside are deserted and just getting a cab was an almost impossible task, for a change not because of too many people but lack of demand. I couldn’t even find a takeaway coffee along the way, everything has closed due to either safety concern with the storm or lack of custom.   
“Tulia, come on. Have you looked out the window? We wouldn’t have been going for coffee anyway.” She sits down and can’t hide another hiss of pain. “I don’t even know what to say. Are you ok? Can I get you anything?”   
“I’ll be fine. They only kept me in the hospital so long because they were surprised at how well I was doing.”   
It breaks my heart seeing her like this. My Tulia is so strong -- mentally and physically -- that seeing her hurt makes me ache. I would never have known about her blood disorder if she hadn’t told me until she cut her hand while chopping vegetables after we were married. Although I did constantly leave bruises all over her body, some of which she hid so I didn’t worry. Once I knew I wasn’t really hurting her it was quite an adventure finding out how hard to bite to leave the right kind of mark, or see how long I could make it last.   
_Focus._   
“So, you wanted to talk?”   
“Yeah. Would you like a coffee?”   
“I would kill for one.”   
She stands and I try to usher her back down but end up following her to the kitchen instead. I don’t know if she forgets I used to use this coffee machine too or if it’s too weird having me make her coffee again. In the end I just hand her things while she does the work.   
“How’s Michelle?” she asks, catching me off guard.   
“Good.” I wonder if her flight has been officially cancelled yet. “You know how it is.”   
“She’s lovely, Seb. Kind. Big heart.”   
“Yeah.” I’m starting to worry about where she’s going with this but she drops it once we’re sitting down.   
I take a sip and it burns my tongue, but even so it’s just like I remember. She makes fucking good coffee.   
“I needed this. Everywhere was closed this morning.”   
“I’m holding on to the hope it will clear in time for my flight this afternoon.”   
“Tulia, I hate to be the one to tell you… you’re not going anywhere this afternoon.”   
“I’ll be convinced when I hear it from someone official.”   
“You never were any good at being told what to do,” I laugh.   
She smiles and it lights up her face, I’ve dearly missed that smile. It was rare in the last few months.   
“That’s true. So,” she picks up a folder from the coffee table. “I spoke to a lawyer.”   
“About last night?”   
“No, about us.”   
“Oh.” I’m not entirely sure what else to say. In all honestly there’s a little candle in my heart that flickered with hope when she wanted to see me; hope that she’d want to give it another go before we called it quits.   
“I mean, you’re with Michelle and you’ve moved out. Surely you’re looking for some closure so you can move on properly. She can’t be comfortable shacking up with a married man.”   
“Well we’re not exactly ‘shacked up’...”   
She ignores me and hands me the folder. “It’s a straightforward split and I think it’s more than fair. I get this place, you get Venice Beach, everything else is halved.”   
“Isn’t it supposed to factor in what we brought in? You brought most of the income.”   
“That doesn’t worry me, I just want it split and done.”   
“But-”   
“Seb, please?”   
I’ve been flicking through the pages and now the one that stares me in the face kind of makes me want to vomit. It’s a form applying for an uncontested divorce, with her parts and most of mine already complete.   
And she’s begging me not to argue with the division of property, she just wants it over with. Tulia is begging me for a divorce. When I look at her she has the crinkle at the top of her nose that happens when she frowns, her eyes wide and pleading, almost a little bit sad.   
“You wanted to see me so you could blindside me with divorce papers?”   
“I’m not…” she takes a deep breath and I imagine she’s counting to ten in her head. “I wanted to give them to you, get your thoughts.”   
“Get my thoughts? This isn’t a film project, Tulia. It’s a divorce.” I keep my voice low even though I want to yell and curse. I don’t know if I’m more angry with her for not discussing it with me before she saw a lawyer or myself for getting my hopes up.   
“I thought this is what you wanted.”   
“How could you just assume that.”   
“What do you want, then? A wife and a girlfriend on the side?”   
There’s a special kind of silence that falls over a city like New York when the power fails, as though someone has pressed pause and mute on all life. Day to day we don’t notice the background noise over the constant sirens and car horns, phones ringing and people yelling down them. Taking away the hum of the heating, the fridge, the televisions and ticking clocks and elevators…   
It’s a hell of a way to make everyone look up and pay attention. There are flashes outside, I don’t know if it’s lightning or something to do with the power, the crack rumble of thunder, the scream of winds whipping between the buildings. As we step up to the window I can barely see across the street for the thick snow being slammed against the glass and thrown around like balled-up confetti.   
“Holy shit.”   
“Still think you’ll be on your way to London this afternoon?”   
“Mmm, probably not. Fuck.”   
She walks away and I turn just in time to see her fall back into the couch.   
“If it’s any consolation my parents aren’t going to be here, either. I would have thought you’d be relieved.”   
“I’m not,” she sighs. “I really needed a break and some time with my mama.”   
“The heating is off.” I put my hand over the vent for a few seconds. “If they don’t get the power back on very shortly it’s gonna get very very cold.”   
“Maybe you should go, odds are your building still has power.”   
“Give it a few minutes, it will come back on. You and I have some things to talk about.”   
I sit back down beside her and finish my coffee just as both of our phones ring with new messages.   
“Treacherous weather conditions… all roads closed to traffic except for emergency services… residents should stay put and implement emergency plans… power outages are city wide and will be prolonged… airports and public transport shut down until further notice,” she reads aloud. “Shit.”   
The rattle of the windows startles her and for a moment eyes widen in fear.   
“This is bad, Seb.”   
“It will pass, we just have to wait it out. You have candles, blankets, bottled water?”   
“Yeah. I’ll get them.”   
We spend a bit over an hour getting prepared, and by the end of it I’ve seen her rubbing at her temple close to twenty times.   
“Hey. Are you ok?”   
“Just a headache,” she says. “I’ll get something in a minute.”   
“Did the hospital give you anything?”   
“Yeah. In my purse.”   
I hand it to her with a drink of water and after she’s taken them she’s curls her legs beneath her and rests her head in her hand. “I just need to close my eyes for a minute.”   
“Whatever you need to do,” I say from the window. “I think we’ll be stuck her a while.”   
While she naps on the couch I look around what used to be our apartment. Nothing huge has changed, but the whole atmosphere is different. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the huge canvas no longer hung on the wall, the one from our wedding.   
_I wonder when that happened?_   
As it starts to cool I tuck the throw blanket around her and she slides down to put her head on a pillow with a murmured ‘thank you’. I always liked watching her sleep, the way she tucks her hands under her chin and her arms against her chest when she’s cold, the little smile on her lips when she’s dreaming.   
Before the light dims further I read the papers she gave me over and over until I’m sure I have them memorised. I can hardly blame her for wanting to move on and end it officially, and she has a point -- I am seeing someone else. Of course it’s much less serious than Tulia seems to think, but it’s happening and I’m enjoying it. I pinch the bridge of my nose and laugh at my own idiocy, because what I really want is to have Michelle now but the option of Tulia later if she changes her mind and wants me back. Why is that too much to ask?

A lock of hair has fallen over her eyes and I so badly want to sit with her and brush it away, One delicate hand raises to push it back and I have to look away quickly when she opens her eyes lest she find me staring at her while she sleeps like some creep.   
“Feel better?” I ask gently.   
“A bit, yeah. What time is it?”   
“Just after twelve. Do you want something to eat?”   
“No, thanks. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, though. Help yourself, you know where to find everything.”   
“I will. When you’re up to it I’d like us to talk. Properly talk, like adults. I’m not signing anything until we do.”   
“Ok. I think I will have a sandwich, would you like one?”   
“You’re deflecting.”   
“I’m hungry.”   
“You made coffee, stay there and I’ll get you a sandwich. Ham, cheese, pickles?”   
“Yes please.”   
“When did you take down the wedding picture?” I ask on my return.   
“A while ago.”   
“Tulia, you have nothing to lose by being honest with me. Please, just this once, just tell me the truth about what happened and how you feel?”   
She sighs deeply. “The night of Matt’s party, I came home and cleared everything out.”   
“You saw us, didn’t you?”   
“Yeah. You had every right to do that, though. I wanted to be happy for you.”   
“I wanted to be happy for you too, seeing all those pictures of you in Italy.”   
“Well that’s a bit different, Carlo was just a friend.”   
“I thought you were dating.”   
“You know better than to believe that crap.”   
“And Patrick?”   
“Nothing happened.”   
“Something must have happened, everyone was talking about it and last night you got into an argument based on something.”   
“It was nothing, I don’t want to talk about it.”   
I uncurl my fingers and inhale deeply before I speak. “Can I tell you something, honestly?”   
“Sure.”   
“What you just said was the whole problem between us. Not just you, I did it too. We didn’t talk about anything but work, never about the stuff that actually mattered.”   
“I know it was mostly my fault, you’re allowed to say it. I put my career first and us second.”   
“We could have got through that, though. It was temporary and I supported you. But if something upset you I never really knew what was going on, I had to guess. You’d yell at me about something else, instead.”   
“I did do that,” she says softly.   
I cup a hand around my ear. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”   
A broad smile spreads across her face. “Yes, I attacked you over stupid stuff because I was upset about something and didn’t want to tell you.” Her face turns serious and she looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I really am.”   
“I know.” I pick up the folder again from the table. “You really want to nut this out while we’re stuck in a blizzard?”   
“You got any other ideas?”   
“Right. If we’re gonna split assets we’re gonna do it properly.”

Three hours later we’re still listing out everything we own, everything we bought together and brought in when we got married. It’s gotten so dark I can’t see now, so I put down the pencil and rub my eyes.   
“Tell me what upset you.”   
“Hm?” She’s pulled on a chunky cardigan and thick socks and is all folded up on the end of the couch with her head back, looking up at the ceiling.   
“Tell me now, you got nothing to lose.”   
“Jesus, Seb. We’d be here all night.”   
“That’s reassuring, thanks.” I throw one of the cushions from the other couch at her and she laughs. “Come on, let me have it.”   
“You gonna do the same for me?”   
“Deal.”   
She thinks for a moment. “You posted on Instagram about being grateful, all the things you were grateful for, without any mention of your wife.”   
“In my defence I was grateful there was a continent between us at that point. I included you in family and if you’d said something I would have fixed it.”   
“But it would have looked like I told you to fix it.”   
“It would have looked like I was a boneheaded man who should have been more explicit in the first place, and instead you attacked when I came home about me posting too much on there.”   
“Made perfect sense to me at the time,” she says with a shy smile. She shifts in her seat and pulls the knit tighter around her with a sharp breath, continuing without giving me a chance to ask if she’s in pain.   
“You never asked me to stay with you. When you were coming home and I was about to leave again, you never asked me to slow down or skip a job to be with you.”   
“Because you were working, you were happy working and I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”   
“You asked for the truth,” she says with a shrug. “Your turn.”   
Even though I’ve known what I want to say from the beginning, from long before I saw her this morning, I take my time choosing my words and pretending to consider my options. I shift on the couch so I’m facing her and wait until she turns to look at me. Those dark eyes that change so readily with her mood are in a rare neutral hazel state today.   
“I wanted you to fight.”   
She frowns and cocks her head, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear.   
“All we did the last months was fuck and fight. When I brought up the idea of separation I wanted you to scream at me or give me some sort of reaction. But you didn’t, you shut down. And here we are discussing divorce like there are no feelings here at all, like it’s not killing me to consider ending our marriage permanently, and I think it’s all because you don’t want to talk about how you really feel.”   
For a beat everything about her seems to fall and I know I’ve landed a blow. There’s no satisfaction in it but now that I’ve been heard I’ve done my best, whatever happens now I’ve said what I couldn’t before and I’ve tried.   
“I think I might call it a night,” she announces, standing from the couch. It’s like I just hit her in the face with an unarmed grenade so she pulled the pin and tossed it back at me. “There’s a pile of blankets on the other couch, make yourself at home.”   
“What’s wrong with the guest room?”   
She stops halfway down the room and turns, and the grenade isn’t done.   
“Nothing, but it’s full of our memories. The wedding photos, anything sentimental, all the shared stuff I replaced… it’s stored in there until we decide what to do with it.”   
Once she’s out of sight I light a few of the collected candles on the coffee table and go back to the window. Not that I can see anything but the distant reflection of red and blue lights dancing off a couple of buildings; now that the sun has set its eerie and black, quiet but for the roar of the wind. It seems to have died down a little, but the snow continues to fall.   
I lie down on the couch for a bit but I can’t sleep, and reading by candlelight is less romantic and more headache-inducing than I imagined. Eventually I find myself in the doorway of the guest room with a torch, investigating what’s left of my marriage. I can’t imagine not keeping that intimate photo we had on the wall but I can’t fathom what to do with it, either. It takes up most of the bed and the way she’s placed it carefully face down tells me it wasn’t an easy thing to clear the apartment of all trace of me -- that gives me an odd sense of comfort. With quiet precision I turn it over and even though I’ve seen it so many times it should have lost all its power it still makes my heart beat faster, just like it did when I’d come home after months away and stare at it to ground myself again. I never felt like I was really home until I saw that photograph and felt the warmth of that moment as I replayed it in my mind. That was the single happiest moment of my life. The way she looked at me that day, I was more than I’ve ever been, more than just a man marrying the love of his life, more than a son for a mother to be proud of, more than worthy of a cherished only daughter’s heart -- I was the blood that coursed through her veins and the oxygen that filled her lungs, the rhythm that her heart beat to.   
Tearing my blurry eyes away I open the closet. It’s filled with ornaments that wouldn’t mean much to an onlooker -- the ugliest, meanest looking cat I’ve ever seen, a gift Tulia bought in Scotland because of its likeness to Bucky; a gorilla I gave her one Valentine’s day with the ‘thank you for loving me even when I’m overgrown’ tag still attached; framed pictures of us together, most of them casual snaps with the odd professional event photo… and then something catches the light and reflects shards of rainbow all over the surrounding shelves.   
I lift the rings from their silk-lined box, slipping them onto my finger to admire the bright sparkle. There was no need for a flamboyant jeweller or an excited girly friend to tell me which one to choose, it happened in one of those magic New York moments. Tulia had left my apartment that morning for a few weeks’ work in London but we’d had a solid month together, and as I replayed waking up with her in my arms the sun hit an engagement ring in the corner of a window I was passing. It was like lightning had struck me with a loud and clear ‘don’t let her get away’ and I decided to marry her sooner rather than later. I bought it right there and spent two weeks preparing my speech before visiting her mother in London and surprising Tulia with it as soon as she finished work for the day.   
The creak of a floorboard startles me and I drop them both with a bouncing ping that feels far louder than it should. Tulia’s sweet laugh comes from the doorway as I shine the torch around the floor.   
“Sorry,” she says as she drops to her knees in front of me. “I didn’t meant to scare you.”   
“It’s ok, I felt a bit like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.”   
She reaches into the beam of light and collects them both with a sweep of her hand, holding them up to me.   
“Not at all, this is all yours as much as mine.”   
“Whatever happens, you’re keeping those.” I replace them in their box and close the closet door.   
“Damn straight, I think they’re the one thing you’d have to fight me for. I love those rings.”   
She steps back and pulls her robe tight around herself. I recognise the pajama pants poking out the bottom, the ones she wore only when she first got up or in between her shower and bed because she generally slept naked or in one of my t-shirts. The pants were mine once, too.   
“Nice pants,” I say with a grin.   
“You’re not getting those, either.”   
“Did I wake you?”   
“No. I woke up shivering under a mountain of blankets.”   
“I hate to be the one suggesting it, but body heat might not be a bad idea.”   
“I don’t know if I’m that desperate.”   
I look up at her smile and the laugh in her eyes.   
“Thanks. Got any alcohol, then?”   
She nods and I follow her to the kitchen where she sets a candle on the bench and opens the cupboard above. “Pick your poison.”   
“Bourbon.”   
“An excellent choice.” She hands me the bottle and follows me to the couch with two glasses, pulling a blanket around her shoulders before she sits down.   
The first mouthful burns down my throat to my belly and even though I know it won’t actually raise my temperature the impression is comforting.   
At the bottom of the first glass she shifts closer to me and I hold my arm out for her to snuggle in and keep warm. I can feel her shivering as she curls her legs up and presses into me.   
“I always said you were a self-sustaining heat source,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re so warm.”   
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier you were so cold?”   
She shrugs. “This feels kind of inappropriate. Familiar but weird.”   
“We’re not under regular circumstances, Lu.”   
She sets down her empty glass and falls silent but for her slow breaths.   
“Seb?”   
“Yeah?”   
“I took my rings off at Matt’s party. I was looking for you because I wanted to talk to you.”   
“About what?”   
“I came home from Sorrento with the intention of trying to work things out.”   
My heart hammers so hard against my chest there’s no way she can not hear it.   
“Fuck. I- I didn’t even know you’d be there. I never would have… You saw me with Michelle.”   
She nods. “And then I took them off and stuffed my feelings away when I realised you’d moved on.”   
I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can’t tell her I’d never have started something with Michelle if I thought we still had a chance, can I? And what do I do now if she still feels that way, dump my girlfriend and go back to my wife? All I can do is hold her close while she falls asleep and hope there’s an answer somewhere in my future.   
“I’m so sorry, Lu.”

I don’t remember closing my eyes but when I wake up she’s shivering again, curled up next to me and groaning as she tries to get comfortable.   
“What’s wrong, doll?”   
She chokes out what I think is a laugh and stands up.   
“I can’t get comfortable, everything hurts. I’m just gonna get some painkillers and go back to bed.”   
“I’ll come with you, you’re freezing.”   
“Sure, let’s get naked in our former bed together and see what happens,” she deadpans. “No thanks.”   
“Actually, that’s a myth.” I follow her to the bedroom, carrying all of the blankets we brought out earlier. “It’s more effective to remain clothed unless your clothing is wet or you’re actually hypothermic.”   
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”   
“I don’t care,” I say as I get under the covers. “Look, there’s a million layers of clothing between us. Let me worry about whether I’m doing the wrong thing, you just get all warm, safe, and snug and go to sleep.”   
She sits up against the headboard. “I can’t yet, it hurts when I lie down.”   
“Why did he do this to you, Lu?”   
“Because I cock blocked him. He had a lovely young woman on his arm who could barely stand up and he was going to take her home and take advantage.”   
“That’s it? You’re pressing charges, right?”   
She shakes her head and blood starts to roar through my ears. “He didn’t mean for me to go through the door. I just want to forget about it.”   
“Tulia, he hurt you because you stood up for someone vulnerable. You have to-”   
“I said no!” she cuts me off and turns away. “I don’t want to talk about it. Everyone would know.”   
“Know what? That you were together? Doll, he’s telling anyone who’ll listen. No one’s judging you.”   
“We weren’t together.”   
“Please tell me what’s going on, then? He did something to upset you.”   
She sighs and her head falls back against the wood with a thud.   
“You know how I shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach? I did. Anna and I were working flat out and it slipped my mind until we got to the club. I planned on just having a couple of drinks, but Dom said he’d walk me home and Anna left with Antonio… I should have been more responsible.”   
“You ended up in bed with Patrick?” Just saying the words is like a stab in the guts, even though I’ve virtually known all this time she’d been with other men the act of saying it aloud so she can confirm it is still far more painful.   
When she doesn’t answer I crane my neck, she’s nodding with a hand over her face.   
“People make mistakes, Lu. Look at me.”   
Shaking her head slowly she lets me pull her arm gently so her hand falls away. I can just make out the shine of unshed tears welling in her eyes and she bites down hard on her bottom lip. I push back and sit up beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and ignoring her weak protests as I pull her into my chest and stroke her hair. Her body quakes with quiet sobs and her hot tears soak into my neck. I hold her tighter and coo softly against her hair, my own eyes welling with tears as her breathless sobs tear at my heart.   
_What the fuck did that asshole do to break my girl?_   
The wind has died down outside long before she finds her voice again.   
“He forced me. I tried to fight him off and my nose was bleeding down my throat-”   
I push back and look into her swollen eyes.   
“He _raped_ you?” I whisper.   
She covers her face and hangs her head.   
“Tulia, did he? Answer me.”   
The movement is so subtle if there weren’t a very faint pre-dawn glow from the window behind her I’d have missed it but she makes a tiny nod, just once.   
“I’ll fucking kill him,” I hiss through gritted teeth.   
“No. You’re not responsible for me anymore. I already told the police but that’s the end of it. I won’t work with him again if I can avoid it, it’s not worth it.”   
“How could you work with him again after that?”   
“I’d already agreed to it before Italy. I couldn’t afford to knock back work and no one wants to work with a woman who cries rape without proof.”   
“Lu, that’s not true-”   
“It is true. It is.”   
“I’m so sorry, baby. God I’m so… so sorry.”   
Just the thought of his filthy hands on her was enough to make me see red, but imagining him forcing himself on her makes bile rise in the back of my throat. The only thing keeping me from running to the bathroom to vomit is the way she’s clinging to me, her fingers twisted into my sweater and holding on for dear life like a koala with her face buried in my neck.   
She needs me.   
With a soft whirr and an irritating hum the lights and appliances flicker back to life, followed by both of our mobile phones as they begin to charge. It’s only a matter of minutes before I start to feel moisture increase in the air and the chill dissipates, a message on Tulia’s phone letting her know the heating is back on.   
“Lie down,” I whisper as I pull back the covers and toss the extra blankets off.   
To my surprise she doesn’t argue, doesn’t even get up to switch off the hallway light. She does send a text to everyone in her phone letting them know she’s alive and well before she closes her eyes, and I lie on top of the covers beside her listening to her breathing slow as she drifts off.   
I look over at her finally sleeping peacefully and swing my legs off the bed, remembering how she argued about me sleeping in the bed with her.   
“Seb?” she croaks behind me.   
“Yeah, doll?”   
“Can you stay here a little while? You can say no, but-”   
“Of course. As long as you want.”


	13. The Right Page

I crack my eyes open just wide enough to know it’s daylight and still snowing before I close them again and try to get comfortable. My joints are stiff and my body aches, my left side ranges from mild tenderness to ‘touch it and die’ level soreness, and I’m sticky with sweat because I fell asleep with pants and a million blankets on.  
Seb’s voice drifts in and out as he paces on the phone – something that drives me crazy – my brain only just now putting the pieces together from yesterday. I’d expected him to leave as soon as he woke up so I guess the weather is still pretty bad. Everything I told him comes flooding back and while at the time I felt relieved I kind of want to kick my own arse now.  
“You really should just stay put… it’s pretty bad here anyway. I haven’t spoken to them yet but I don’t expect they’ll be here today or tomorrow… I know you’re disappointed… I’m sure there will be another time…”  
Unable to lie there and listen to my husband talk to his girlfriend I shut myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower to wash off the previous day. This will undoubtedly go down as the weirdest Christmas day I’ve ever had; complete with black eye, superglue, and stitches.  
All is quiet when I emerge, my hair dripping over my neck while I brush my teeth before examining my face in the mirror. The tape around the gauze has loosened enough for me to lift it off easily, the clean red line along my cheekbone disappearing into the bruise that surrounds my eye and spreads almost to my jaw now.  
No point putting makeup on, then.  
The stitches in my shoulder and chest are miniscule and already barely noticeable, only one in each wound to hold it together after the glass was removed but there’s so many I look like I’ve been painted with pink polka-dots. I pull a towelling robe around my shoulders and return to the bedroom, listening to Seb conversing with his mother in Romanian. Her English is as perfect as Sebastian’s but I’m glad they still use it between them to keep fluent because to mutt ears like mine it’s a beautiful language the way his mouth rounds the words. I’ve always loved listening to him speak, it’s as though the first language you’re exposed to is the one your embouchure shapes more naturally. My Italian is pretty fluent but I don’t think it compares to Sebastian’s Romanian. I understand enough to get the general gist of most conversations, the two languages having similar origins, but I’d rather just listen to the words flow from his mouth without trying to comprehend their meaning.  
When I hear my name mid-sentence I stop short and cringe, wondering exactly what he’s telling her since I have no intention of telling my mother we spent the night together. Maybe eavesdropping even on an unintelligible phone call is a bad idea.  
My wardrobe gives me a multitude of choices for the day, but not the information I need to select one outfit over another. If only something would leap out and lay itself on the bed along with the exact time I can get on a flight to London and the appropriate words to say to the estranged husband I may or may not still be in love with. If it could book it for me and say those words I’d promise it my first born child, too.  
Underwear. I can at least decide on that. Less commitment and opportunity for error, there. A dusty pink lace bra and panties are on top of the pile and I pull on the panties first, tossing off my robe and picking up the bra when my phone pings. In the middle of rounding the bed to retrieve it I realise my carelessness as Sebastian appears in the doorway and finds me practically naked and striding rapidly toward him.  
“Oh, god…” he’s staring at my torso with his mouth wide open. “Oh. God,” he says, looking up at the ceiling and clearing his throat. “Sorry.”  
“I just… uh… I was just getting dressed, and my phone…”  
“I’m gonna make coffee.”  
He doesn’t wait for an answer but I hear his heavy sigh from the end of the hall. The message is from British Airways, kindly letting me know their flights are expected to be grounded for a further 12-24 hours and I begin to wonder if it’s worth going at all. New Year’s Eve is pretty spectacular in London, but then it is here in New York, too. Provided the snow clears before then.   
The comforting smell of fresh-brewed coffee greets me as I enter the kitchen and Sebastian hands me a steaming mug. His hair is considerably longer than last time I saw him, I never could fathom how quickly it grows. It’s almost down to his jaw, just long enough to tuck behind his ears and have it fall back in his face seconds later, and the moisture still clinging to it tells me he showered before I woke up. He can’t be wearing cologne and yet rather than smelling like my soap he has his own familiar scent just as I remember.  
“Merry Christmas, Lu.”   
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Merry Christmas. Did you get any sleep?”  
“A couple of hours with you and a couple on the couch. Tulia, what you told me-”  
“Can we not?” I cut him off. “I just… I need to work out what’s happening. Did your parents make it home?”  
“No. They’ll just stay put and wait it out, now.”  
“Michelle?”  
“She’s going to see if she can fly in somewhere else and drive the rest. She’s nothing if not determined.” He turns toward the windows.   
“You can probably go back to your apartment now.”  
“If only I brought my snow shoes.”  
“Seb, I’m ok. You don’t need to stay and watch over me.”  
“I know but it’s Christmas. And the roads are closed. Everything’s under a few feet of snow.”   
“But Michelle-”  
“She won’t get here today. Or tomorrow. And I kind of want to be here… with you.”  
My phone rings on the bench behind me and he hands it to me with a smirk. “It’s your mother.”  
I take it with an apologetic smile. “Hey, mama.”  
“Sweetheart, did the power come back on?”  
“Yes. Flights are grounded for another day, though.”  
“I thought as much, it’s all over the news here. Why don’t you just come and visit in January?”  
“Um… let me get my diary.”  
“What happened the other night?”  
“Just an accident, I’m fine.”  
“You’re sure? They gave you blood?”  
“Mama, I’m fine. I can spend a week from New Year’s but then I have work,” I flick over the next page of my diary, Anna’s loopy hand fills every page with projects, appointments, and notes.  
“Just come over when you can.”  
After I hang up I find Seb staring over my shoulder at the year overview where she’s mapped out each project.  
“Holy shit.”  
“Yeah.” What used to excite me is now making me slightly nauseous. “I won’t be surprised if the events of the other night will cull some of it down, though. I can see at least two I won’t be doing.”  
“Thank you for last night,” he says when we’re sitting on the couch watching the snow fall beyond the news on the television. “I know it wasn’t easy to tell me.”  
“You got that right. No one knows, by the way. Just you and Anna. Ugh, and Dom. I had to tell him at the hospital.”  
“I won’t tell you what to do, I know you don’t make rash decisions. I think you should be charging him, though. At least so he can’t do the same to someone else.”  
“But you won’t tell me what to do,” I scoff.  
“I won’t. I’ve said my piece. If you want to talk you can talk to me, though.”  
“Thanks.” I watch him curl and uncurl his hands and I know he wants more than anything to get them on Patrick’s throat region.  
“How are you feeling? Can I see?”  
I nod and he reaches out to brush back the strategic section of hair that covers the side of my face, a sharp breath hissing in through his teeth.  
“Jesus… are the others all right? I couldn’t help but see the marks on your body.”  
“It will heal. It looks worse than it is.”  
He spreads his legs out on the couch and grazes my thigh with his, pulling back quickly and fidgeting with his hands.  
“What you said about coming to Matt’s party to see me, what were you going to say?”  
“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”  
“Humour me.”  
“I was going to ask you if we could find a middle ground. What it would take for you to give it another shot.”  
“I would have said you need to be honest with me. And in the spirit of that honesty that kiss you saw was our first.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and laughs. “Actually that’s a lie. We slept together once, months before that after the wrap party. At the party was when we decided to date, though. If I’d known-”  
“Let’s not get caught up in what-ifs. It doesn’t matter. If you weren’t well suited you wouldn’t still be together.”  
“That’s the thing, though. Don’t assume it’s serious because it’s been half a year. We’ve been on less than ten dates in that time and only spent more than a day together exactly three times.”  
I so desperately want to ask if he loves her. The question is so close to the tip of my tongue I fear if I open my mouth it will fall out. If he doesn’t then just maybe… but if he does it will be like a sledge hammer in my chest because there’s no going back from there.  
“Well you make a beautiful couple. Why don’t you sign those papers and you’ll be free to date and fuck anyone you like?”  
I push them across the table toward him and take our cups to the kitchen. That’s the thing about old habits, they don’t go down without a fight.  
“No.” His voice is low and soft but he’s stood up and folded his arms.  
“Yesterday you said-”  
“Yesterday I didn’t know you were capable of opening up, I thought it would never happen. Now I know that-”  
“It’s too late, Sebastian!” I didn’t mean to yell. I didn’t mean to almost slap his face with my gesticulating hand on the way past either, but it’s in my genes to overreact. My mother likes to call it passion.   
“No, it’s not.”  
“Ok,” I sigh and sit back down. “When I came home from Italy I looked at next year and decided the three jobs already in my diary were all I’d take on, that left room for one or two short projects if they came up. I wanted you to see that I was willing to compromise. But then after the last job with Dom all these offers came in and I hired Anna and told her to take as many as I could fit in. I wanted the whole year full so I couldn’t dwell on what might have been and move on.”  
A few seconds pass before I look up from my wringing hands, which I’m staring at like they hold the answer to all universal mysteries. I expect to find him deep in thought, shaking his head or scratching at the stubble that’s grown on his jaw since yesterday morning. Instead he’s holding back sobs with a fist in from of his mouth, his lips trembling and tears streaming freely down his cheeks. There’s a unique kind of kick in the guts reserved for seeing the man you love cry this openly, watching their emotions poured out and laid bare.  
I would sooner break my own heart a hundred times over than be the cause of those tears.  
Setting the mug down I reach out to rub his back but instead he pulls me into his lap and my arms instinctively wrap around his neck. “I’m sorry,” he chokes into my hair.   
“None of this is your fault. We both could have done better.”  
“I suggested this. Splitting was my idea and I only said it to get a reaction, look where my fucking stupidity got us! I was still your husband and I should have been there-”  
“Don’t. You wouldn’t have been there either way.”  
“Tell me you wouldn’t have taken better care of yourself if you weren’t trying to take your mind off me.”  
I sit back and wipe his cheeks with my thumbs, waiting for him to look up at me. God I’ve missed those blue eyes, the way they look straight into my soul. They’re dark and stormy now and it makes mine well up with fresh tears.  
“Sebastian, it wasn’t any more your fault than it was mine. You have such a big heart, but you can’t be responsible for everyone else’s happiness.”  
He looks down between us and pinches his nose. “Are you happier without me?” he mumbles.  
My reply is fast and firm, without a shred of hesitation. “No.”  
He meets my gaze again and tucks my hair back behind my ear, his thumb ghosting over my lips. All I can hear is the thump of my heart in my ears, I know where this is headed and rationally I know I should stop it.   
How long has it been since I truly lost myself in those plump lips and their deliciously slow kisses?  
Even as I keep my eyes locked on his I can see his tongue flick over those lips and leave behind a shimmer of moisture, his quick glance down to my mouth which suddenly feels far too dry. With his warm breath meeting mine he threads his fingers into the back of my short hair and pulls me down with ease. I don’t have any fight left.  
As our open mouths brush for the first time I’m taken back to early in our relationship, when the sex was rough and urgent but his kiss was always tender and slow, when we could drown in each other for hours on end.  
Every inch of my body ignites, our tongues caressing tentatively at first, recalling the steps to their favourite dance. I tangle both hands in his hair in an attempt to hold on so that we’re swept away together as we ride out wave after wave of pent up emotion.  
I don’t ever want this to end. When it does, there will be questions neither of us want to ask or answer, but as long as his breath fills my lungs the outside world has stopped spinning.  
Only it hasn’t, and his phone rings.  
Sebastian carries on as though he doesn’t hear it and I follow his lead while salty tears run down to our lips because finally I know we feel the same, we’re on the same page at the beginning of the same chapter in the same story.  
And it’s about god damn time.  
With his mouth curling into a smile he pulls back and I lick my bruised lips. Neither of us are game to break the silence except for our heavier breathing, our foreheads pressed together and eyes still closed, holding on until the last possible moment when reality will shatter our little bubble. Whoever is calling him mustn’t have got the memo.  
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I should get that.”  
A panicked expression immediately takes away the lopsided grin he was sporting a moment ago and his eyes dart around as he considers whether to answer.  
“Use my office if you like,” I say quietly, gesturing as though he doesn’t know where it is.

He closes the door behind him and suddenly our very spacious apartment isn’t big enough for us both. I can’t make out words but I don’t want to hear his muffled voice so I make my way back to the bedroom, looking for something to distract myself. The sound still carries, though, moreso because I know he’s talking to Michelle. And here comes the flood of questions.  
I’m surprised to have my call to the airline answered in under a minute and I take the first available flight to London, leaving tomorrow morning as long as the weather and snowploughs hold up their end of the bargain. It’s nowhere near soon enough, nor do I think London will be far enough, but I’ve done something productive and I have a plan.  
I’m halfway through packing, tossing outfits on hangers onto the middle of the bed, when I turn and find him leaning coyly on the door jamb. “Thanks for um… you know. You got a flight?”  
“Yeah, tomorrow morning. Your parents should be able to get back soon, too.”  
“I’ll give them a call.”  
Now that our little bubble has dissipated into the air it’s all too real, too harsh. Sebastian’s proximity makes me ache, I’ve had a taste but I can’t have more because he’s promised to someone else, now. As much as I wish I didn’t care she doesn’t deserve this, and even if I threw myself at him I doubt he’d give in. I can see the guilt in his eyes just from one kiss and if he was the kind of man who would just surrender to his desires and deal with the consequences later he wouldn’t be my Sebastian.  
“Would you stop for a minute, please?”  
“I can’t.” I shake my head and look for something in the wardrobe. Something that doesn’t exist but it keeps me turned away long enough to re-gather myself. I almost stumble on him when I turn back, he’s moved around and is sitting on the bed between me and the growing pile of clothing.  
“Tulia, please.”  
“If I stop, you’re right there, and I’ll kiss you again. I’ll try to, and you’ll stop me because that’s the man you are, always taking the high ground and trying not to hurt anyone, it’s endearing and infuriating and it’s one of the many reasons I love you so fucking much. But I’m not strong like you, and I can’t resist. So please don’t make me stand still.”  
“Come here,” he holds his hands out and I rest mine on top of them, but I can’t look at him. “That was Michelle on the phone.”  
“I guessed.”  
“She was supposed to be meeting my parents but I’ve asked her to hold off. I’m going to ring around now and see if I can get a flight to LAX.”  
“That could still happen, if I can get to London they should be able to get home.”  
“I need to see her because I’m breaking it off, Lu.”  
“Oh.”  
“Look at me, baby.” He squeezes my hands and doesn’t speak again until I raise my eyes from his shoes to his face where I’m surprised to find a tiny smile. “When I come back, we’re gonna work this out. There’s no rush, we can keep living apart for a bit and get to know each other again, but I want to be with you. I love you.”  
“Ok,” I sniff. “I love you too.”  
As I swipe at my eyes he stands and wraps those huge strong arms around me, kissing the top of my head as he holds me so tight I can feel his heart pounding under my ear.  
“I’m gonna go, ok? Unless you want me to stay longer.”  
“No, I should finish packing.”  
“Take it easy, get some rest.” With a kiss on my forehead he takes his coat from the hook and lets the door close heavily behind him.   
It doesn’t seem right to feel happy or celebrate, I’m not sure I’m sad or relieved or anything else, either. So I sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, cuddle up with my pillow, and have a good cry because it feels like a suitable place to start.


	14. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little cameo from Chris and Amelia of Animal Magnetism, because I'm not ready to let them go.

## 

Sebastian

Not so long ago this apartment almost felt like home. The first few months it felt temporary and lacked memories, sort of like our place in California, or any one of the hotels or trailers I might call home for months on end. They're a house away from home, an interim measure until I can get back into my real home, the one where my heart and soul reside.   
Now as I hang my hat and coat, unwind my scarf and feel the bite of frigid, stale air, I realise though I might be geographically close to that home, it's a world away from the emptiness here. I thought this was my new normal, a fresh start, a blank canvas on which to paint new memories; but I was denying myself to protect my heart from more pain. Just like trying to turn a red wall white I see now that the crimson will seep through no matter how many coats of white you roll on top, no matter how carefully you might try to cover up or erase the past it will bleed into the present until every question has been asked and the answers properly treated.   
I'm soon informed the heating was only restored at my place in the last hour and for a few moments I hover at the door with my scarf in hand, wondering if that isn't the perfect excuse to return to Tulia's warm apartment. God, I want so badly to run back there. My body craves her, my cock is already standing at attention, my bones ache to feel her naked in my arms and her smooth skin on mine, hear her moan as I unravel her. She wouldn't stop me. She'd make some half-arsed remark about it being a bad idea but she wouldn't actually do anything about it, she considers Michelle my situation to deal with. Her toned arms and legs would wrap around me and even if her words said 'don't' her actions would pull me closer and deeper, making us move as one, and I'd pour myself into her until we were both spent. I'd kiss every last mark on her tawny skin, every scratch and bruise, until she associates them with love instead of malice.   
The image of Patrick forcing himself upon her slices through my thoughts like a bloodied knife and my hands clench into fists while tears prickle my eyes. One day we will meet again and so help me I will beat the living shit out of him, my skin crawls at the mere thought of his filth on my precious girl. As I force the air in and out of my lungs in slow, deep breaths I want to go to her more than ever, to make love to her gently like we so rarely did, remind her what it's like to be treated with absolute reverence and tenderness.   
Michelle has been incredibly good to me though, far more than I deserve, and I owe her an explanation as much as an apology.   
My sleep is fitful and restless, fraught with nightmares where Tulia is being hurt and calling out to me but I can't find her, or my limbs won't work and I can only watch in horror while she cries out in pain. I manage to doze on and off on the plane but arriving to heavy rain in Los Angeles just matches my mood perfectly.   
Michelle opens the door for me and throws her arms tight enough around my neck that I can carry her inside along with my backpack, setting her down gently while she kisses me.   
“You look like hell,” she says with a laugh, combing my hair back from my face. “Sit down and I'll get you a coffee.”   
“Thanks, sweet.”   
“Did your parents get a flight?”   
“Yeah, tomorrow night they'll be home.”   
“Is Tulia ok?”   
“Huh?” I neglected to tell her I'd spent the night with her for Christmas, it just wasn't something I wanted to talk about on the phone from Tulia's office.   
“You still saw her on Christmas Eve, didn't you?”   
“Oh. Yeah, she's ok. Patrick was trying to take advantage of another woman and she intervened, he wasn't impressed at being cock blocked. She has a heap of tiny wounds where the glass was taken out, a few stitches in her cheek. Bruised and battered, but she's a tough one.”   
“Wow. So you survived the blizzard?”   
“Yeah. Look, Chelle... I have to tell you something.” She watches me sip my coffee before I continue. “When the power went out I was there, I was with Tulia. In our... her apartment. I wouldn't have left her alone anyway, but I literally couldn't get back to my place. The streets were completely blocked and the roads were closed.” I sigh and take a deep breath, forcing myself to continue looking at her. “I spent the night there. For some of it I was in bed with her to keep warm.”   
“Did anything happen?”   
“No, but-”   
“But you wanted it to,” she interjects quietly. “Seb, you can be honest with me. You two are still married, I knew you wouldn't give it up easily.”   
“I'm really sorry, Michelle. You don't deserve this, you've been so patient with me and we've had a great time together. I have to give it one more shot with her, I want to. We both do.”   
There's an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice. “Of course you do. I kind of expected all along that you'd go back eventually.”   
“I feel awful doing this to you at Christmas.”   
“Please don't. If there's a chance for you to work it out you need to take it. Is that why she wanted to see you?”   
I snort. “No, she wanted to give me divorce papers.”   
“Oh, well that makes sense,” she laughs. “So what changed? You don't have to tell me, but if you want to talk about it you can.”   
“We talked. Properly talked, and she told me some pretty heavy stuff. When she saw us at the party she was there to see if I'd give her another chance, she'd taken on a lot less work for next year and wanted to make it work. She saw us kissing and went home to clear every trace of me from the apartment.”   
“Shit, I'm sorry.”   
“The point is, she wouldn't have told me that before. She wouldn't have told me what really happened with Patrick or how she missed me. I think she really wants this and she's willing to work at it.”   
“I'm happy for you.” I look over and she's blinking back tears, clenching her jaw to stop her chin from trembling. Reaching an arm around her shoulders I pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back while she's cries softly against my shoulder.   
“I never wanted to hurt you, Chelle. You deserve so much better.”   
“I know you didn't, and I knew what I was getting in to. Honestly after six months if we're not jumping straight into bed when we've been separated so long, if we're not in love by now, we were probably doomed either way. I don't want to lose our friendship, though. Platonically we're really good together.”   
“We won't. What did you end up doing yesterday?”   
“I had lunch with some friends and then went out last night with another group of old friends. We were talking about Tulia, actually, after her altercation with Patrick was all over the news. Wondering if the rumours about him might not be all that far fetched.”   
“What rumours?”   
“A few years ago he was accused of getting an extra drunk by doubling up her drinks so she'd sleep with him. The next morning she reported it but it was ignored because there was no evidence he did anything and technically she didn't try to stop him, she couldn't. There was a crew member a while later who claimed he raped her but again there was no evidence so nothing happened. She ended up going into independent films in South America somewhere because she couldn't get work.”   
“Because she accused someone of rape?”   
She nods. “Someone in demand like he is, no one wants to work with an easily-offended woman who might accuse an important senior production member at a critical time. It's not worth the drama.” Seeing my mouth gaping, she shrugs. “That's the way it is.”   
“That is fucked up. It's not like women are saying that sort of stuff all the time, right?”   
“Of course not. It happens, they just keep their mouth shut to save the hassle. Learn from it and move on. If you've got a good mentor you know not to get yourself into a situation where that could happen, to look out for each other. Or you can go with it, have fun, and be labelled a slut.”   
“I thought she was exaggerating,” I say under my breath, standing up from the couch.   
“Seb, did something happen to Tulia?” she asks gently.   
“I can't... it's not my place to say.”   
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “I'm so sorry. The poor thing, I can't imagine.”   
“She said the same thing,” I say to the window. “If she reports it her career is done. And that asshole knows it.”   
I'm overcome by the coffee suddenly turning to poison in my stomach and although I try to quash it while making my way to the bathroom I can't hold back the violent heaving that follows.   
She's always so careful, she and Anna always have each other's back. How could this happen? How could people honestly think she'd voluntarily go to bed with that piece of shit?   
There's a soft tap on the door as I'm washing my face. “You ok, Seb?”   
“Yeah.” I stare at my grey skin in the mirror and wonder how the hell I can let this go. It's what she wants and I have to respect that, but it feels like a cancer settling in the pit of my stomach.   
“God, you really didn't need this today,” I say when we're back on the couch and she's presented me with some sort of herbal tea that tastes like it's made from pre-chewed horse hay.   
“I understand. Not gonna lie, it hurts and I'm sad that we're over, but I always knew this day would come. We always felt more like friends with benefits than a long term arrangement, I'm glad you guys are going to work it out.”   
I laugh and shake my head, turning to look her in the eye. “You're a pretty amazing chick, you know.”   
“Yeah,” she smiles. “I know.”   
Our goodbye is punctuated by long tight hugs and chaste kisses, she waits at the door while I get into a cab bound for the airport. I'd planned on staying at the beach house because honestly I didn't think she'd take it as well as she did. Her revelations about Patrick have left me shaken and keen to get home but I'm also flooded with relief that we haven't ruined our friendship.

“Hey, mom.” I pull her into a huge hug and cherish her scent and warmth as she rubs my back fondly. “Crăciun fericit!” [Merry Christmas]   
Being back with them and hearing the tales of their travels and mom's performances is like existing in another universe for a little while; almost like while we're conversing in Romanian the rest of the world doesn't matter and all my troubles fall silent.   
Not forever, though. It isn't long before she asks about Tulia and she already knows I was there over Christmas. She's not one to hold back her opinion but I'm taken aback when she smiles upon being informed I've broken it off with Michelle. Despite never meeting her, mom is convinced that we weren't right together, that I was just biding my time with a fling until Tulia took me back. In her book Tulia can do no wrong, and I must have precipitated the separation by not being supportive enough of her ambition. That isn't to say she thinks it's all my fault or that she isn't the most supportive mother I could ever ask for; as far as determination and initiative go my wife and mom were surely cut from the same mould.   
I do have to laugh when she orders me to track her down in London and get working on grandchildren, though. Sure I want to be a father, if Tulia said tomorrow she wanted to start a family I'd have her naked under me before she could say 'fertilization', but neither of us are ready for that. I hope it's not too far away but – call me old-fashioned – I'd like us to be living together and have a solid relationship first.   
With that I elect to call it a night, my apartment now thoroughly warmed in stark contrast to the light snow falling outside. I'd left my phone on silent so I could spend some uninterrupted time with mom and Anthony and now I find a message from Tulia: _Safe and well in London, day 2 and mum is driving me mental but I wouldn't have it any other way. Give your parents a kiss for me and call me if you want xx_.   
“Hello?” she slurs when I do exactly that.   
“Shit. Time difference. Sorry.”   
“Sebastian?”   
“Yeah. I just got your message and dialled without thinking. Go back to sleep I'll talk to you later.”   
“It's ok I'm awake now. How are you?”   
“Good, just got home. So what's she doing this time?”   
She laughs. “Just being her usual positive self. She thinks you and I should have given it more time apart, I could have worked on building my reputation a bit longer. Because I can't do both.” I can practically feel her eyes roll.   
“Your dad really did a number on her, huh?”   
“You might say she's a little bitter. She said to say hi and she misses you, though.”   
“Well mine is over the moon about us giving it another shot but she wants to know what I did to make you leave in the first place.”   
“I'll set her straight when I see her next. How did it go... did you go to LA?”   
“I did. Michelle understands, she was really great about it.”   
“I feel kind of guilty about the whole thing, like I took you away from her. I really like her, I always have.”   
“Yeah I'm pretty sure she gets it. You're my wife. Have you told your mother about Patrick?”   
“Why would I?”   
“Lu, you seem to be ashamed about the whole thing like it was your fault.”   
“It wasn't, I know that. I just don't feel like talking about it. I expect I'd get a lecture on drinking and not feel any better about it.”   
“Suit yourself. I should go, you can call me anytime you want. Get some sleep.”   
“Ok, bossy man. Night.”   
“Tulia... I love you.”   
“I love you too.”

The next day I get an invite from Chris and Matt for coffee, honestly after being cooped up inside for so many days I'd have gone out on my own if I had to.   
“If ever you get that urge again I have a pack of dogs who'd love a walk,” Chris jokes when I tell him that. “Just sayin'.”   
“How is family life, Chris? Wasn't it this time last year you were moving her in?”   
“In January, yeah. Her hours are crazy, I'm never here, but we're working it out slowly. It will settle down in a couple of years.” His Australian girlfriend, Amelia, is a veterinarian who took on a residency program here. When they met in Sydney it was supposed to be a short fling but he came home nursing a broken heart and vowing to find a way for them to be together. I don't know how he manages it, splitting his time between sets and LA and here, but the little family they've built with their four dogs seems rock solid so far.   
“What's the secret?” I ask.   
He shrugs and thinks for a moment while he gulps his coffee. “I dunno. We talk every day, even if its just a couple of texts. If something's bothering her I listen and if I feel down or anxious or whatever I tell her. Maybe we're just lucky. Are things not going well with Michelle? I thought you two would be holed up indoors for weeks.”   
“We broke up. Tulia and I are going to try again.”   
“Yes!” He raps the table with his fingertips and holds out his hand to Matt, who grumbles and slaps a fifty into it.   
“What the fuck? You had bets on my relationship?!”   
“No,” Matt says. “The bet was on your marriage. I was sure after that night at mine and the Italian stallion she was done.”   
“I hate you both.”   
“Truly, that's great. Is she ok after the nightclub thing?”   
“She will be. Cut up and bruised but she'll be fine, she's back in London with her mother for a bit.”   
“God I'd like to tear that sleazebag a new one. I bet everyone else was just turning a blind eye to what he was doing?” Chris growls.   
“Have you spoken to Tulia?” I ask, confused.   
“No, I've heard the story and seen him in action. Gets 'em drunk enough that they either can't say no or don't remember.”   
“Am I the only person on the planet who didn't know about this?”   
“No,” Matt interjects. “I didn't. I mean I saw him hitting up your missus, but... well, she threw a drink in his face, I figured she had it under control.” He laughs.   
The visual still puts a little smirk on my face, I wish I'd been there to see it. But the rest makes my stomach churn.   
“How's Amy?” I ask Matt to change the subject.   
“Over it. Swollen and sore and ready to pop out a baby.”   
While I listen to them gush over Matt's impending fatherhood I'm stuck in the previous conversation, disgusted at the way the industry can just accept such horrific behaviour. And yet, there's so many people competing for jobs that I know they're not exaggerating. At least he's going to be charged for what happened at the club, I intend to make sure of it.


	15. Home Improvement

**Tulia**

Walking down the street in London I tug the gloves from my hands and wonder if I could have left the scarf behind as well – it fascinates me that it’s never bitterly cold here like it is in New York, or ten minutes away for that matter. Having mum still live in the city is like taking a summer holiday when compared to the Antarctic climate I left behind. I tuck them into my leather shoulder bag and admire it for the hundredth time – my mama never fails to nail Christmas gifts and it’s oversized deep red pockets are just what I wanted – burning my tongue on the first sip of coffee as I turn into her street.

As soon as I open the door I hear a sniff and something just feels wrong, it’s too quiet.   
“Mama?”   
Martina Bianchi does not cry, she’s too proud. She yells until she’s red in the face, expresses jubilation like no one I’ve ever known, but when she’s sad there’s nothing but silence. I asked her about it once as a child and she told me since I was born she’d just never been sad enough to cry which only made me more confused at the time because I was sad enough to cry quite frequently. After that I made a conscious effort not to be quite so dramatic and discovered a pleasant side effect: if you don’t show emotion, people don’t ask questions. I can’t remember why it’s undesirable for your loved ones to ask after your emotional wellbeing, I’m not sure I ever knew.   
Through more sniffles she tells me she’s just spoken to Calinda, that Zia Adela had a minor heart attack two days ago. She’s going to be fine but mama is upset that the girls didn’t call her until now, Adela told them not to worry her with it. There is such a rift between them at this point that her daughters thought it best not to bother her and it only twisted the knife when she said she’d be on the first flight and Calinda told her there was no need.

When she tells me she’s going anyway I have to sit down otherwise my legs would buckle. Mama doesn’t surprise me often but I’m blown away by how quickly she’s realised this is something she has to fix before it’s too late.   
“Listen to me, Patatina,” she says, sitting beside me. I half expect her to tell me something awful, she only uses English when she has to be absolutely sure I understand and she hasn’t called me her ‘little potato’ since I was about ten.   
“Mama? Cosa c'e’?” [what's wrong]  
“Your Sebastian, he is a good man. You’re so ambitious, so driven, so like your father in that way. It’s good, but don’t lose your love along the way. I always wanted you to be self-sufficient, rely on no one but yourself, but that doesn’t mean you should be alone. Pride makes us do things we regret. I was so ashamed of the way I treated my family when they tried to tell me your father wouldn’t treat us well. Because I was too proud to admit my mistake.”   
“Adela forgave you long ago, mama. Go spend some time with her, you have many years to catch up. Would you like me to come with you?”   
“No, I want you to go home and get on with it. Go make up with that beautiful man.”   
I can’t help a smile but it’s tempered by my last conversation with Sebastian. Ever since I’ve been preparing myself, knowing that I have to tell her about Patrick. It would break her heart to hear it somewhere else, and if I can’t discuss it with the woman who brought me into the world then my communication issues are beyond help.   
“Mama, devo dirti una cosa…” I begin. [I have something to tell you]  
She doesn’t need the explicit details, and I don’t need to mechanically spill them out again. Instead I focus on the shame I felt the following day when I realised what had happened, the way I felt responsible for his despicable actions, the terror that haunts my dreams. I expect her to unleash the explosive anger I’m familiar with, to begin plotting revenge upon the repulsive man who damaged her daughter and made the bruises and wounds before her.   
There’s nothing for a long few minutes, nothing but uncomfortable silence. Then she wraps her arms tight around my neck, hugging me tight enough to cause pain and bring relief all at once.   
“Il mio povero bel Tulia,” she whispers against my hair. “Il mio povero bel bambina.” [my poor beautiful Tulia / my poor beautiful baby] Over and over again she coos into my ear like a prayer, comforting me as tears prickle my eyes.   
When she stops and I’m expecting more silence, she weeps. Mournful sobs take her breath until we’re both melded into an emotionally spent mess on the couch, clinging to one another for dear life.

For the first time I consider speaking out, and for the first time in my life I feel genuinely soothed in my mother’s arms. If preventing one woman from experiencing what I did wasn’t motivation enough then preventing a mother from this soul-destroying conversation might be. I can’t fix this now. The three people who matter most to me in the world – Sebastian, Anna, and mama – have been crushed when they found out and I know they both bear some misplaced guilt.   
Today Martina Bianchi was not too proud to cry for her daughter.

I have to laugh when she apologises for abandoning me for New Year’s eve, given I was wondering if I could sneak back home before then without offending her. I have work commitments to sort out with Anna, the police want me to make a formal statement, my stitches need to come out, and I’ve put off an awkward conversation with Dominic for so long I can feel it starting to fester. If I wait any longer it will be one of those wounds that never heal.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Before I left London I invited him over for coffee and a chat, now that he’s at the door I’m a bundle of nervous energy, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I’m not even sure what I want to say, just that I need to clear the air. This morning all but my cheek stitches were removed and the bruises on my body are slowly fading to yellow so instead of beaten up I just appear jaundiced. My face will take longer, unfortunately. Next time I’ll protect it better.

Anna will be back in another couple of days, having received a surprise visit from Antonio. They’re so sweet I think I have a cavity from the other side of the country but it’s wonderful to see her so in love and happy.

“How are you? Everything healing?” Dom asks while I pour coffee.   
“Yeah, thanks. Have you spoken to him?”   
“Very briefly once he was released. I didn’t say you told me.”   
“I haven’t made a statement to the police yet, but I think I’m going to. All of it.”   
“Tulia…” he shakes his head sadly. “I’m not dimishing what happened to you, but I worry the only one who will be punished is you.”

“So I should shut up and let it continue, even though we both know he’ll just do it again.”

“I just… couldn’t there be a better way to make your point?”   
“You mean so your precious DOP doesn’t end up in jail?”   
“I am on your side here, I feel sick about what happened after I’d promised Anna I’d get you home safe.”   
“What did happen? Did I tell you I was fine and leaving?”   
“No. He did. He said you’d had too much to drink and he was ready to leave. I thought he was being helpful.”   
“Seems to be his MO.”   
“I figured he wouldn’t bother with you because you were married. And… you’re you. The unbreakable Tulia Campbell who takes no one’s shit.”   
“Not entirely unbreakable, apparently, but you’re right about not taking anyone’s shit. Will you continue working with him?”   
He sighs and scratches at his chin. “Look, I have to do what’s best for the production company and that means getting the best people I can. Fact is he’s one of the best and wouldn’t be easy to replace. I’m disgusted by his behaviour but I have to separate professional from personal.”   
“You understand I can’t do that when it comes to him, though.”   
“Please don’t ask me to choose –”   
“I’m not,” I cut him off. “Hell, no one else ever stood up to him so I’m not expecting a lot of support, here. You know I won’t work with him again, though. You’ll need to find someone else for any project where he’s involved.”   
“I would never expect you to. I’ll put a good word in for you, everywhere I can. If there’s anything else I can do just ask.”   
I nod. “I’m going to the police this afternoon, they’ll probably have some more questions for you.”

The tiny waiting room inside the 24th Precinct is a side of the NYPD I’ve not seen before. Painted in calming blues and greens with clean cushy chairs, there’s a table in between with adult colouring books and beautiful coloured pencils, soft music playing in the background, a bench with tea, coffee, chilled water and biscuits, a stack of books and magazines, even a play area for children – I’m spending most of my waiting time checking it out rather than wringing my hands waiting for Officer Nicole. Obviously that is the sole purpose of the entire setup, but I almost expected to be kept in an interrogation room like on television.   
She greets me and leads me to another small room with minimal furnishings but the same calming colour scheme.   
“Got any plans for tomorrow?” she asks as we sit in armchairs with a low table between us. It feels a bit like a therapy session rather than making a statement.   
“Not yet, no. I’ll see what pans out, there’s always a residents’ party on the rooftop.”   
“Ok. Are you ready?”   
“Yes. I’ve decided to report the assault in Naples.”   
“Let’s start there, then.”   
Going through it all again I focus on the facts, the physiological rather than my thoughts or feelings. The more detail I get into it’s as though the alcohol haze burns back and the events become clearer, memories buried deep float to the surface, fragments between restless, interrupted sleep invade my consciousness.   
By the time we’re done with the night before Christmas eve I barely feel fit to walk home, my mind and body are equally exhausted. When Sebastian calls on the way I honestly consider not answering, its cold and dark outside and the clouds look ready to drop more snow – I just want to curl up in bed.   
“How’s London?”   
“London was great, I’m home now. I was planning on calling you tomorrow to see if you had plans.”   
“Well, we’ve been invited to a party on Matt and Amy’s roof if you’re interested.”   
“We?”   
“I was out with Chris and Matt and mentioned we were talking again, they suggested you should come along.”   
“Yeah, ok. I didn’t make any plans because I thought I’d be in London.”   
“You sound really tired, you ok?”   
“Just cold and tired, looking forward to getting home. Can we talk tomorrow?”   
As I’m peeling off layers in the warmth of my apartment I look around and wonder if I really did want to be alone or if it was just automatic to shut everything off. Tomorrow I’ll be fine and I won’t have to worry him with the deflated feeling I have now, but there’s a little something – she’s not an angel or a devil, a cherub perhaps? – sitting on my shoulder and whispering _'you’re doing it again.’_  
I try literally flicking her off with my hand but she’s not having it. With an exasperated sigh I take my phone from the pocket of my coat and call Seb back, all the while stripping off my clothes and pulling on yoga pants and a Captain America shirt I haven’t worn in at least a year.   
“I went to the police today,” I say as soon as he picks up. “Do you want to come over? Bring a pizza?”   
“Ice cream, too?”   
“Nah, my arse is – ”   
I cut the sentence short. He used to try to comfort me with ice cream, offer to bring some home, and I’d always say no because I had to watch what I eat. And I do, I don’t always find time to exercise, I gain weight just looking at fried food, and I’ve never really felt fit enough to be on Sebastian’s arm. But I said it in the hope that he’d ignore me and say something like 'you’re gorgeous the way you are, I love your arse’ while spooning it straight into my mouth from the tub. He never did, and it was just another perceived slight. I was being passive aggressive and intentional or not he called me on it.   
We’re at a crossroads and every fibre of my being wants to dig my heels in and refuse to change. Love me the way I am, or leave me for someone who will. It goes against everything I’ve been taught to fight this hard to be different, to behave and think differently for the sake of a relationship. But it goes against my heart not to fight for what we had and since the former hasn’t worked so well for me lately perhaps it’s not so bad to bend a little.   
“Yes please. Ice cream too.”


	16. I was always yours

## 

Sebastian 

There's a spring in my step when I arrive at the door and press the buzzer, chuckling to myself when I realise I could have brought my key and let myself in. I'm not sure we're there yet, though.   
I've barely put the ice cream in the freezer before she's slumping against me, laying her head in the crook of my neck with a deep sigh.   
“Hey, babydoll,” I say with a kiss on her head, wrapping my arms tight around her. “You ok?”   
“Mm hm,” she murmurs. “I just really needed a hug.”   
“What you did today was really brave, Lu. It took balls.”   
“You always said mine were as big as yours.” Her body shakes against me as she laughs.   
“I think they might even be bigger. Hungry?”   
“Starving.”   
She props her bare feet up on the coffee table while we eat out of the box with a bottle of red. “Whatever I can do to support you, I'll do it. The fact that people cover for him makes me sick.”   
“Thank you,” she says with a nod. “I doubt there's anything you can do, but being here helps. I didn't realise it would take so much out of me, having to retell it all in one go.”   
“You could have called, I'd have come with you.”   
“I wouldn't have let you hear all the disgusting details. Anyway, this isn't the last of it. I'll be hearing from the DA in the next few days. Good thing I have some time off, now. I cancelled my first job for the year.”   
“You spoke to Dom?”   
“Yeah. He sympathises but he can't just refuse to work with Patrick. Pretty much what I expected. So I told him to find someone else for any other projects with Patrick.”   
The fucking hell he can't refuse to work with him. My shoulders ache with restraint, I just want to explode and shake her for being so god damn understanding when he's basically covering for a rapist, but I know it's not her fault. It's kind of ironic the petty things she used to throw things at me for but she'll let Dom get away with something like this.   
“I'm so sorry, babe. That's not fair.”   
“Yeah... so mama has gone to Sorrento to see Adela.”   
For a moment I'm rendered speechless and think she must have got muddled up, but she smiles at the shock on my face. “Wow.”   
“She cried, Seb. I told her what happened and she wept, right in front of me.”   
“That must have been so hard for her to do after all this time, to let you see that.”   
“I think it hit her that her pride was like a wall between her and the rest of us. That if she didn't make some changes she'd end up with no one.” She stops and turns to me, waiting until I look at her to continue. “Editing your own habits isn't always a bad thing, apparently.”   
Her sheepish grin tells me more than any words could say – she really wants this.   
“Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”   
She laughs and covers her face. “I'm sorry I was a stubborn bitch.”   
“It's ok.”   
“We had a good talk while I was in London, about not letting pride push away people I love, not letting my ambition get in the way of living.”   
“I'm so touched that you called me, I know you weren't going to.”   
“You know me too well.”   
She rests her head gently on my shoulder and I wrap my arm around to pull her into my chest. Her hair tickles my neck, her warm breath falling on my chest, and she turns her body so her hand rests on my stomach.   
Whenever I pictured our reunion it was much like the rest of our relationship – turbulent, reckless, and passionate. I expected clawing hands and torn clothing, clashing teeth and carnal grunts, taking her up against the nearest flat surface because we couldn't wait another second. We were so conscious of limited time and not wasting a moment that we missed the significance of the details, like inhaling the scent of her hair or drawing shapes on her naked back, or lying in each other's arms and appreciating the intimacy. Always too focused on the next project, the next day, the next instant to enjoy the present.   
This time will be different and I'm not in any rush. We both know now that we can't solve things with sex, physical sensation is no substitute for emotional connection, that fireworks in the bedroom doesn't make our marriage strong any more than fireworks on new year's eve makes the guy lighting the fuse a magician.   
That isn't to say I haven't been at half mast from the moment I walked in, nor that if she looked at me the right way I wouldn't just tear off her clothes and fuck her senseless right here. I'm only human. Tonight I just need her to feel safe and know that even if the whole world turns against her I'll be right here for her to rest her head.   
I watch her start to relax in to me and smile at the Captain America t-shirt, one I haven't seen in far too long. I love it not for the subject but the memories it brings back of our first Comic Con together, not long after our wedding. She was supposed to be working and took the weekend off to surprise me, rocking up in a t-shirt with 'Property of Bucky' emblazened across her tits with her hair in those two long braids that drove me fucking wild. Naturally I snuck her into a little private room where she informed me she was cosplaying one of my fans and kneeled in front of me, all the while sweeping the braids forward so the ends brushed her nipples and telling me all about getting herself off to Bucky's thighs in the Winter Soldier, how she wanted to ride them until she came and do all sorts of debauched things with his metal hand.   
She took me in her mouth without even pushing my jeans down and all of my plans to get inside her melted away, I was a goner from the second my dick passed her lips. Neither of us were really prepared though, she choked at the last second and cum ended up all over her shirt. The one she's wearing now cost me seventy bucks – because I had to pay Chris's assitant an extra fifty to not ask questions – and more ribbings from Chris and Mackie than I can count. Only when we were back in the hotel did I find out she had matching panties, I wonder if she still has those...   
“Seb!” she says, slapping my stomach and tearing me away from my hot little reverie.   
“What?”   
“You want some ice cream?”   
“Uh, yeah. I'll get it.” I need to adjust my jeans anyway. 

Her eyes roll back in tastebud bliss when I feed the first spoonful of chocolate fudge brownie onto her tongue. The last time we did this was very early on and there was less spoon feeding and more licking ice cream from one another's bodies. Later that day we found out that magic shell might look similar to chocolate body paint but actually makes a runny mess when mixed with body heat. That was not fun to clean up, I recall with a shudder.   
“I know we have things to discuss,” she says quietly, licking ice cream from her lip. “I just don't know if I have the strength tonight.”   
I reach over and swipe a spot of chocolate from her chin. “You missed a bit.”   
Without a second thought she sucks it off my thumb with a cheeky smile. “Sorry. Habit.”   
“I'm not complaining. And we have plenty of time to work things out, we can even put it off until next year.”   
“Dad joke,” she groans as I set the empty tub down on the table.   
“How does your face feel?”   
“Better,” she shifts her body to face me and turns her head so I can examine the stitched wound on her cheek. “The stitches come out next week. All the others came out today.”   
I let my fingertips ghost over the bruises around her eye, the rimpled skin around the thread. Leaning in closer until I feel her warm breath on my face I leave soft kisses around her eye, threading my fingers through her hair to the back of her neck and resting my forehead on hers. She lifts her lips to mine tentatively as though she's afraid I'll pull away, her hand resting light as a feather on the back of my neck. I press against her soft lips and breathe her in, filling my head with her scent and tasting the lingering chocolate and wine. Her grip tightens and she now pulls me in with both hands, deepening the kiss and opening for my tongue when I lick at the seam of her lips.   
A tiny whimper escapes her throat and she moves smoothly into my lap without breaking the kiss, pressing her body against mine and wrapping her arms tight around my neck. Our tongues glide together slow and unhurried, my breath drawn into her lungs as my fingers tangle in her hair. Her short nails scratch the hair on my neck and I shiver, goosebumps prickling my skin. I pull back, sucking her bottom lip gently, and find her sparkling eyes on mine.   
“I love you so much, babe.”   
Her thumbs roll over my cheeks before she responds. “All I ever wanted to be was your doll.”   
“You'll always be my precious baby doll.” I smooth her hair back and kiss her swollen lips. Her skin has paled and her eyes have the telltale pink outline, I know she's only awake because I'm here. “You've had a huge day, Lu. You shold get some sleep.”   
“You can stay if you like.”   
“We said we'd do this slow.”   
“Ok. So I'll see you tomorrow at Matt's, or do you want me to pick you up?”   
“Whatever is easier for you. I can walk myself there.”   
I take her hands in mine, tracing over the lines and caressing each scratch gently. They're healing up slowly but surely, leaving textured hash marks in her smooth skin.   
“I want you to know that whatever happens I'll be by your side. Anyone refuses to work with you, they won't be working with me, either. This shit needs to stop and if I have to trash my career to make it happen then I will.”   
“Easy there, go getter. Just being by my side is enough.” Her hands come up to my face, stroking over my forehead and lightly down over the frown between my brows. She smooths down from my hair almost to the tip of my nose like she's calming an overexcited puppy, like she's done before when I was upset or angry. “Besides, if you trash your career we'll be broke. At least one of us needs to have an income.”   
“I wouldn't care if we lived in a cardboard box at the bus station as long as you were there, too.”   
She giggles quietly, her hands cupping my face and tilting it to look at her. “That is tragically romantic, Seb. I love you, my soft-hearted sap.”   
Her lips are still open and smiling when she brushes them against mine once more, licking at my tongue and nibbling my lip. I pray she can't feel the erection growing in my jeans with every breath or hear my heart trying to pound out of my chest. As my hands trail down her sides I hold tight just about her waist and she gasps in pain, pulling back abruptly.   
“Shit, what did I do?” I ask, looking down at her stomach when she lifts her shirt.   
“My ribs are sore, that's all. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”   
“I'm so sorry, babe. I forgot.”   
“It's ok, it's fine. I'm fine.” She tugs her t-shirt back down, covering the cuts and grazes down her side.   
It's not ok.   
She stands and pulls me up by the hand, flicking off the lights on the way to the bedroom where she guides me to sit on the edge of the bed and stands between my legs, putting my hands on her back under her shirt, and crashes our lips together.   
God I've missed the feel of her, her smooth skin and the way she responds with shivers and goosebumps when I touch it. I lift the hem of her shirt and peel it off, tossing it onto the bed behind me and finally getting a good look at her wounds. One by one I begin kissing each one, a gentle healing caress with my lips like a parent does for a child with a skinned knee. The moans and heavy breath of a moment ago turn to silence and I feel her watching me intently as I search them out in the dim light.   
But there are so many the task soon becomes overwhelming, thoughts of that asshole's hands on her impinging on my thoughts, interrupting and shattering the intimate moment. With trembling lips and hands I push it down and try to carry on, but her tiny voice stops me dead.   
“Sebby, please don't cry.”   
I didn't realise I was, but she's wiping tears from my cheeks. “I'm sorry.”   
She pulls away from me to remove her bra and yoga pants, pulling the t-shirt back over her head and lying her head on the pillow.   
“C'mere,” she says gently, patting the other pillow. I unfasten my jeans and let them fall to the floor, throwing my shirt on top before I join her and she lies her head on my chest.   
“This is why I had to report it. All of it. Because he hurt the people I care about most. I thought about the woman he targets next and her family, her mother having to hear what mine did... or worse. ”   
“I just can't stand what he did to you. Your body... you deserve to be worshipped at every opportunity, that piece of shit doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air.”   
“Shhhh.” She strokes my face like before, calming me. “I know you want to fix it, and that's enough. Will you stay with me?”   
I get the distinct impression that offer was as much to comfort me , if not more, as to comfort her, but the answer is the same. “Of course, baby doll.”   
Safe and secure in my arms where she belongs, she sleeps. I try to stay awake and watch over her but eventually the fatigue catches up with me and I have to close my eyes. When she's woken by a nightmare at 2am I sing softly until she's sleeping again, watching her features fall and soften as she murmurs to herself and breathes peacefully.   
Wanting to fix it can not possibly be enough. I have to be able to do something. 

As a young child my mother told me the story of the Sandman, who would visit children while they slept and sprinkle magical dust over their eyes to produce good sleep and pleasant dreams. On the rare occasion when I couldn't fall asleep or had nightmares I'd ask her why, and she suggested perhaps the Sandman was just too busy, there might have been another little boy or girl more in need of some nice dreams. Assuming that explanation still holds, I'm choosing to believe that Tulia needed all the magical dust last night – mine and hers. Oddly enough though my eyes feel like they're actually made of sand before I've even opened them.   
The sound of the shower makes me curious to know what time it is, but not enough to roll over and look at the clock. Her soft footsteps enter the room a few minutes later and I give up on going back to sleep.   
“I know you're awake, babe,” Tulia says with a soft laugh. “You always tap your feet.”   
“Good morning, gorgeous.”   
I finally peel my eyes open and she's standing in front of me naked as the day she was born with her short chocolate hair mussed and dripping onto her shoulders, her chest still pink from the hot water.   
“Jesus. Good _morning,_ gorgeous.”   
She smiles and moves closer. “I want you to look at me.”   
“Believe me, I'm looking at you.”   
She laughs. “I mean really look, at every mark. This is me, Sebastian. Just clumsy old me who has been covered in scrapes and bruises since she was little. You don't need to be sorry, all of this will fade with time. Yes, I am emotionally scarred. I'm angry and hurting and I hate that I'm still affected. But you will not ever again associate any part of my body with that fuckwit, so have a good gawk.”   
That's my girl.   
I spend a few moments gazing upon her beautiful curves, fluid and smooth as though she was poured from molten wax into her exquisite form and left to dry in the morning sun like a new butterfly. The sensual acts she can perform with that body are second to none and just appreciating her from afar is enough for desires to stir in the pit of my stomach, longing to make her dance and sing with my touch.   
I toss back the covers and hold a hand out to her. “I think I need a closer look.”   
“You getting old? Eyes not working as well as they used to?”   
“Don't make me punish you.”   
Something flashes in her eyes but it's gone before I'm certain. I don't think I imagined it but I don't think she wants me to bring it up. I lift beneath her arms and pull her on top of me and her lips immediately catch mine in a deep slow kiss while I trail my hands up and down her spine. My erection hardens against her thigh and she rolls her hips against it while our tongues twist together between our open lips.   
After what feels like hours I lie her beside me and prop up on one elbow, she reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear where it immediately falls back into my eye. A mock frown creases her eyebrows as my hand traces down the side of her neck.   
I force myself to examine each tiny wound objectively, touching the raised areas gently with my fingertips, leaning back to take in the spotted fresh scars that marr her smooth skin. And then I begin leaving a few of my own. Caging her in I leave kisses down her throat and over her collabones, occasionally sucking a little deeper to produce a satisfying purple blotch each time. The first few elicited soft giggles but now her breath is heavy and catches in her throat and by the time I'm gently kissing her ribs I can no longer ignore her nipples straining upward, desperate for attention. I close my hand over one firm globe and relish the quiet moan that escapes when her mouth falls open.   
Sitting back on my heels I take a moment to admire my speckled masterpiece on the canvas of her torso. Tulia props herself up and looks it over, a lustful grin spreading across her face.   
“Marking your property again?”   
“Remember I always used to leave one on your collarbone? Just here?” I touch the spot with my thumb.   
“So everyone would know I was yours. I remember the hassle of covering it.”   
“I had to be sure there was never any doubt.”   
“I was always yours, Sebastian. Always will be.”   
She reaches up and pulls me down by the hand, catching my lips before lying back down. This time my path over her neck is more direct, taking the shortest route to her peaked nipple. It's rock hard against my palate and she moans when I swirl it with my tongue, hold it gently between my teeth before releasing it with a pop. My hand snakes down her stomach and ghosts over her mound to her thighs, her hips grinding upward as I part her legs with my knee. As I engulf her breast with my mouth again my fingertips begin gently exploring the slick heat between her folds, my dick growing painfully hard as her appreciation grows in volume.   
So wet, always so wet. Even as my mouth shifts down over her stomach my senses anticipate her taste like a reocurring dream and I lie between her thighs, savouring her desperate whimpers. In the dim light her lips blush a swollen rosy pink, beaded with her juices. A thin strip of soft dark curls points to my intended target, as if I needed any guidance. The pad of my thumb teases her bud to life, coaxing it further until I can attend it with long strokes of my tongue. Tulia's hips buck in time with her moans as I slip two fingers into her silky cunt, working them deeper with every lick on her clit. Briefly I pull back to replace my fingers with a pointed tongue, eager to taste more of her, and she forces her legs wide, rolling her hips against my face.   
With her hands tangling and tugging my hair I know she's not far off, and my dick is now threatening to thoroughly humiliate us both like a twelve year old boy, so I switch back and find her g-spot with my fingertips, rolling over it very gently while lapping and sucking her clit. At her telltale held breaths and high pitched whines I close my lips around her and stroke hard and fast with my tongue, her pelvis grinding against me in one of my favourite moves. Her legs shake around me and her body stiffens to a board as her walls clamp down on my fingers, and I work her through it with slow thrusts and circles around the edges of her pulsating bud.   
“Oh, god. Seb...” she pants as I'm making my way back up to her mouth. While I kiss her and share her taste she pushes my shorts off and takes my cock in her hand, swiping precum from the tip and gliding her hand down to the base. I position it at her entrance and pause, staring into her glistening eyes and holding back for a few breaths – partly to savour the moment but mostly so I don't come on the first thrust.   
“You're still on birth control, right?” I ask as I nuzzle against her nose.   
“Yes, we're good. Give it to me. Please, babe,” she begs.   
I enter her slowly, observing closely the bliss that spreads across her face as I slide deeper and stretch her tight walls. Buried inside her I bend to kiss her mouth slowly, drawing out the seconds while the memories flood back.   
“Fuck...” I breathe as she moves against me. She feels just exactly as I remember; hot and soaked, gripping me with her velvet heat. The pace I set is rhythmic and measured, each time hitting her limit and drawing almost all the way out. Tulia's fingernails scratch down my back and she thrusts up to meet me, keening into my ear and begging me to go faster. Instead I weave a hand between us and strum at her clit, her moans growing with a rapid crescendo until she muffles them by biting into the crook of my neck. Only then I slap my hips faster against her and lose myself in her spasms, letting the pleasure overwhelm me and spilling into her depths.   
The following hour is lost to the euphoria of having my wife back in my arms, our naked bodies a tangle of sweaty limbs and mussed hair, punctuated with lingering kisses. While she's taking her second shower I start on coffee and pancakes. Tomorrow is the dawn of a new year, and I know it's going to be our best one yet. 


	17. Ring it in

## Tulia

Sebastian picks me up at dusk, helping me into a thick wool coat before we leave. As we walk down the crowded street, new year’s revellers already beginning the celebration and the air abuzz with the anticipation of midnight, he tells me all about Chris’s girlfriend and the bets being placed on the date for Amy’s baby. In a moment of silence his hand slips around mine, lacing our fingers together in a familiar gesture that feels entirely new again, sending tingles up my arm and making my stomach flutter. He looks down at me and smiles like a teenager on his first date, the rest of the short walk we remain in companionable silence and listen to the excited hum of the city coming alive.   
Outside the door he tugs me into the shadows and takes my cheek in his hand, brushing his lips against mine until I open my mouth to kiss him. Our tongues graze together slowly and my breath catches when he nibbles my lip before pulling away.   
“I didn’t know if I should do that in front of everyone so I thought I’d get one in now,” he says with his forehead rested on mine.   
“It’s ok in front of our friends, but I won’t complain about being kissed like that.”   
He kisses me lightly again before letting his hands down. “I intend to do it often.”

At complete odds with the rest of us, Amy is wandering the apartment in a stretchy sleeveless dress and seems unaware of the mid-winter chill and unable to sit still. It’s an intimate gathering with only the six of us and within the first hour I’ve heard ‘Amy for god’s sake put your feet up’ or words to that effect on at least twenty separate occasions. While the boys are occupied talking about work I find her with Amelia in the kitchen, where she’s leaning over the bench with a glass of sparkling apple juice.   
Seb was right about Chris and Amelia, they are absolutely meant to be and I’ve never seen a couple so in love and connected. They’re constantly making little gestures and touches, their eyes catching across the room and mouthing 'I love you’ or sharing a bashful smile. I remember people saying Sebastian and I had one of those relationships but I wonder if we ever really emanated that level of happiness. To top it off she’s bubbly and easy to talk to, and her broad Australian accent makes her equally as easy to listen to.   
“I give it two days. You might even get a new year’s baby.”   
“What did I miss?” I ask them.   
“Nothing. Amelia thinks I’m nesting.”   
“Nesting? Don’t all pregnant women do that?”   
“Yeah, but it’s worse right before labour. And she’s dropped.”   
I feel like they’re speaking a foreign language.   
“Least I have someone here to deliver it,” Amy laughs.   
“Hell no. I deliver animals. Unless you’re up for eating the placenta and licking the baby clean I am out.”   
I take a long drink of champagne to keep from gagging.   
“I’m changing the subject before Tulia passes out. You and Seb are working things out, huh?” Amy says.   
“Yeah, we are. We’re trying to. I won’t be working so much this year so hopefully more time together will help.”   
“Being on opposite sides of the country sucks,” Amelia says. “We almost take it for granted after a year apart but it’s still been really tough. When Chris is here I’m always working and when he’s away I’m falling asleep in front of the laptop trying to Skype him.”   
“A word of advice, don’t fall asleep during phone sex. Poor Matt. I was tired and pregnant and didn’t really feel like it and then I was snoring.”   
We all laugh loud enough that the men fall silent and look over at us. “Babe, you’re not embarrassing me are you?” Chris calls over.   
“She’s just told them how teeny your dick is,” Sebastian says, slapping Chris’s back. “Commiserations, buddy.”   
While the other two are laughing Seb’s eyes catch mine and his wink across the room has my insides fluttering again. I’m starting to feel like a shy teenage virgin.   
“Hey, Matt told me what happened. How’s your face?” Amy interrupts my thoughts.   
“Yeah, it will be fine.” I’m covered in about five separate layers of makeup thanks to Youtube tutorials and the bruises are pretty well covered, invisible if you don’t look for them. The same can’t be said for the sutures across my cheek bone but it’s such a fine line I don’t feel so much like a victim tonight. Seb won’t be happy I covered a couple of his bite marks that showed above the neckline of my blouse but they darkened during the day into very obvious hickeys.   
There’s that shy teenager again, a blush warming my cheeks at the thought.   
“Matt thought he was just a harmless creep until you asked to be walked home in Naples. He’s being charged, right?”   
“Yeah. With more than pushing me through a glass door. Can we not talk about it tonight, though? We’re supposed to be celebrating!”   
I hold my glass out for them to clink together, praying that’s the end of the topic for tonight.

Cards against humanity is the best way to spend a quiet new year’s eve, when the alcohol is flowing (for most of us) and inhibitions disappear. Watching Chris and Sebastian try to delicately explain fisting to Matt might just be the highlight of my year, by the time we’re packing a crate to take up to the roof my eyes are scratchy from crying with laughter. As always when drinks are involved there’s a pre-midnight line up for the bathroom which is where Seb presses me against the wall and claims my mouth, grinding his hips against me until I whimper around his tongue.   
Amy clears her throat beside us and heat rises in my face as I pull back and chuckle.   
“Sorry.”   
“It’s sweet,” she says with a smile. “Nice to see you guys making up without the fighting part.”   
“Why don’t you go ahead of us, we’ve got plenty of time.” My eyes don’t leave Seb’s and as soon as she closes the bathroom door our mouths crash together again, this time ragged and urgent, his erection poking my hip.   
“I reckon we could find a room and still be done by midnight,” he whispers, threading his hand through my loose hair.   
“I reckon you can wait until we get home.” He groans and pulls back, cocking his head when we hear Amy’s sharp breaths through the door. “Amy? You ok?” I say with a tap on the wood.   
“Ah… yeah. Mm… yep. Just a sec.”   
I gesture Seb into the bathroom as soon as she emerges. “What’s wrong?”   
“Just little pains. I think I ate too much.”   
“Are you sure? You’re almost due, right?”   
“Could be very early labour I guess, but I’m not getting my hopes up. I’m fine, honestly. This might go on for days, don’t get excited.”

Up on the roof the night is perfectly clear, the cold black sky shimmering with stars and the air filled with revelling from the streets below. We sit on blankets and Sebastian parts his legs so I can fit between his thighs, curling them protectively back around me and his arms around my waist. With every number of the countdown he presses his lips to mine until finally we reach zero and the fireworks begin with a deep boom that precedes the explosion of glittering colours.   
“Happy new year, my baby doll. This is gonna be our year, our fresh start. We’re gonna get it right.”   
“I love you, Sebastian.”   
“Love you too, Lu.”   
I rest my head back onto his shoulder while we watch the show, every burst more colourful and shimmering than the last. When I look over at the others they’re in similar positions with the exception of Amy who refuses to sit down and has her face scrunched in pain, her fist rubbing furiously to one side of her pelvis. Knowing Amy and Matt they’ll have read every pregnancy book ever written cover to cover and made their own notes, so I trust her when she says it’s nothing, but to an external observer it looks a lot like she just doesn’t want to miss the celebration or worry anybody. She’s swaying her hips side to side as she’s done all night, Matt holding her tight from behind with one hand while the other caresses her painfully swollen belly. Deep down I want that one day, to feel another life grow inside my body and be a mum, and I’ve known from the beginning Sebastian would be ready for a family long before I am. He’ll be a beautiful father, I have no doubt.   
As though he’s reading my thoughts his lips brush my ear. “That will be you one day, carrying our baby. You’ll be such a gorgeous mumma. Not to mention milf.”   
I reach behind and slap him playfully as he chuckles, his warm breath sending goosebumps down my body. A screeching alarm behind us cuts through the sound of the last fireworks.   
“Aaaand that’s my cue,” Amelia says, stuffing a pager back into her pocket. “Sorry guys. Happy new year.” She hugs each of us in turn before she and Chris disappear into the elevator, leaving the four of us to watch the haze hover over the city.   
Amy hisses under her breath and Matt frowns with concern as he rubs her back. “Maybe we should call the doula, honey?”   
“It’s too early for that.” She straightens and recovers with a deep exhale. “Remember they said first labours can take days, this is only just getting regular and painful. It’s going to be hours before I need to call her.”   
By 1am the only one of us not convinced is Amy, and Matt has been secretly timing her before handing her the phone. “You’re calling now, they’re only 3 minutes apart and you’ve been like this for half an hour.”   
“Ok.” She nods and makes the call to her doula – who I now know is going to assist with the natural birth she’s intent on having. When she ends the short and breathless call her skin has blanched and she looks like she might pass out. “She said to call an ambulance if they get closer before she gets here.”   
“Dammit, woman. I told you it was labour!” Matt says sternly before shifting completely and taking her hand in his. “We’re having a baby. Today. We’re having a baby today, honey.”   
“Yeah,” she whispers as another contraction takes hold.

To me this seems like an opportune time for Sebastian and I to make our exit, before everything turns to chaos. I have no experience in this area but I imagine that birthing a child is quite an intimate moment that should be between mother and father and I can’t see us being of any use.   
I don’t even get a word out before the aforementioned chaos begins and we’re along for the ride whether we like it or not. Natural-birth Amy is suddenly consumed with unending pain with no relent in between and quite insistent that she’s changed her mind and will have all of the drugs now, Matt is using one hand to call an ambulance while the other is being crushed in her grip.   
“What? Well it’s an ambulance, can’t they drive on the pavement? Uh, I don’t… they’re like just coming over and over there’s no time in between. I can’t do that, we don’t have boiled water or towels or any of that stuff.”   
Sebastian and I exchange and look and I sit with Amy while he takes Matt down the hall to calm him down.   
“I think it’s coming, Tulia.”   
“I think you might be right there, hon.” I smile and stroke the back of her hand, trying not to let my own panic get the better of me.   
“They’re sending an ambulance and the doula is coming but they’re both stuck in gridlocked traffic,” Sebastian says when he returns a few minutes later. “They might not make it but there’s a midwife on the phone to talk us through, all right? You can do this, Amy. You got this.”   
Matt returns with armfuls of towels. “I need you to lie down, honey. I know it hurts, they want me to see if I can see the head.”   
“You can’t look at the business end. You promised.”   
“I know, baby. Tulia is gonna stay right there while I take care of this, ok?”   
I don’t know what he’s up to down there, but it rips a blood-curdling scream from Amy. He calmly picks up the phone from the floor. “I can feel the head, it’s right there.”   
I have that 'everything’s swimming and I’m going to pass out’ feeling again, I can be strong and composed for Amy as long as they don’t expect me to go anywhere near baby’s heads or placentas.   
She grips my hand and her teeth grind together.   
“Amy, she says if you want to push don’t fight it. Let your body do it’s job,” Matt says, only the tiny shake in his voice giving away his anxiety.   
On the advice of the midwife over the phone Matt shifts behind Amy to prop her up and Sebastian kneels between her legs – not without Amy making a joke about him keeping his eyes closed – while I hold the phone to his ear. From then on time becomes sort of an abstract concept, what feels like seconds to me is likely hours for Amy, and neither perception really matters because in the blink of an eye Sebastian is guiding a tiny screaming bundle of wriggling limbs into the world, wiping her gently with a warm towel and wrapping her in a blanket. He places her carefully inside the top of Amy’s dress, her cries quieting to whimpers as she snuggles against mum’s skin and tucks another blanket over them both while I open the door for the doula and paramedics.

I never imagined I’d want to witness a birth, even my own child, and I’m even more surprised at the serene and touching experience than the fact my actor husband just delivered a baby. For the first time in my life there’s something in the world I want far more than success and independence – a family with Sebastian.   
“You missed your calling,” the doula says to him after she breaks the news to Amy that she’s going to hospital for a couple of stitches. “You’ve obviously been involved with your own children being born.”   
Seb and I both laugh nervously. “No, no children yet. I just know how to follow instructions and keep a cool head.”   
“Thanks, man,” Matt says as he pulls him into a hug, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You were amazing.”

“I really wasn’t, I just did what I was told to do,” Sebastian says later when we’re finally crawling into bed. “Amy did all the work.”   
“Seb, that was just incredible. And you were awesome, staying calm and keeping her calm, encouraging Amy and making sure everything happened like it should. Watching you do that and then hold her so carefully made me think about us starting a family.”   
“God it was the most beautiful thing. I know that’s a cliché, and I know I was essentially pulling a baby’s shoulders out of my friend’s vagina, but it really was like watching a miracle. Like… this little living thing just made its way into the world all slippery and yelling, and I was there helping her make her entrance and meet her parents. I’m so wired, babe. That was one of those moments I’ll never forget. She’s gonna be ok, yeah?”   
“Yeah, she just had a little tear they wanted to stitch up and check them both over. Thanks to you she’ll probably be home again in a few hours.”   
“I can’t wait for us to… I mean I can, I know you’re not ready for that but when you are…”   
“Seb, I think I am ready. We should give it a few months and make sure we’re really going to work things out, but… I want to. I want a baby. Your baby.”   
If I hadn’t just witnessed the same thing he did and if it wasn’t almost 4am I’d think he was high on something artificial. He continues staring at his hands like he’s been doing since we left Amy and Matt’s and then after a minute or two my words actually make it into his brain.   
“Really?”   
I nod. A smile breaks across his face like the moment the sun bursts over the horizon and he’s a bouncing ball of energy, pulling me down onto the pillow and flipping me beneath him, kissing my mouth while his hands work underneath my t-shirt and toss it off.   
“We best start practising, then.”

“I love the way your tits bounce when you ride me,” he says thickly, taking one in each hand and flicking his thumbs over my nipples. My hips glide over his pelvis, taking his shaft to the hilt and releasing it slowly, coating it in my juices with each thrust. There’s nothing on this earth like making love to Sebastian and feeling his full length deep inside me. Sex was the core of our marriage, used as praise and withheld as punishment, our first line of communication for conveying anger or frustration, for celebrating each other and ourselves, for reconnecting when physical distance had left an emotional abyss, a bandaid to heal the hurt we consistently caused each other. We had sex to show affection, to make up after a fight, to release tension. The idea of sex as a means of creating something that belongs equally to us both is a new and frightening concept.   
As I grind down on him the heat spreads out from my core and overtakes my body, a powerful orgasm following in its wake and leaving me quaking against him. He thrusts up hard into my quivering walls and cries out his climax, flooding me with warm seed.   
I lie awake in his arms until the first fingernails of daylight are clawing at the sky, my head against his chest and the drum of his heartbeat in my ear. Although he’s still and silent I know he’s awake too, occasionally stroking his hand down my back or kissing the top of my head. Suddenly he slips out from beneath me and leaps out of bed.   
“Stay there. Be right back.”   
His soft footsteps are barely audible on the hard floor and the longer he tiptoes around in near silence the closer I come to jumping up and following him. Patience is not my forte.   
“If we’re gonna do this we’re doing it right,” he says in a sharp crescendo as he returns to the bedroom and kneels on the floor beside me.   
“What are you doing, you goose?” I giggle.   
“Just… humour me. Sit up.” I sit on the edge of the bed directly in front of him and gather the sheet around my chest. “Tulia Noemi Campbell, will you marry me again?”   
I don’t know if its because I’m so tired or just the general surprise of the situation, but I start to laugh in spite of the tears prickling my eyes. He’s kneeling on the floor naked, I’m wrapped in nothing but a sheet and probably have bed hair as bad as Sebastian’s. We’re still married and yet everything is new and exciting and awkward like we just fell in love last week.   
And he’s holding my rings in his palm, retrieved from their hiding place in the guest room where I stowed them in heartbroken despair so I wouldn’t have to look at them.   
“Can I think about it?” I choke out between laughs.   
“Fucking hell, you love to ruin a moment, don’t you?” His lips pout but his eyes are smiling as he pushes me roughly backward and covers me with his body.   
“You love me.”   
“Yeah, most of the time. No more thinking, Lu.”   
“No?”   
He shakes his head and I let him slide my wedding band and engagement ring onto my finger. “You’re mine, baby doll.”   
“You know I’ve been itching to put those back on?”   
“I figured. Now get some sleep so I can fuck you into oblivion the rest of the day. 'Begin as you mean to go on’ and all that. Start the year with a bang.”   
“Is it too late to change my mind?” I say into the pillow with a mock groan.   
“Yep!” He swats my arse and hauls me against him, wrapping his big strong arms around my waist and nuzzling against my hair. “You’re stuck with me, wifey.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loose translations (if I have this wrong please let me know!):  
> Pigyn = penis / dick (Welsh)  
> Puttana = whore (Italian)

Sebastian

Television and film have completely ruined my perceptions of the judicial system. I assumed that getting all of the stuff with the DA’s office out of the way would mean we’d go to court and Patrick would be charged, we’d all go on our merry way and he’d rot in jail.   
Apparently not. I’d hoped by the time I started filming at the end of February she’d be healing from it all and have some sort of closure, a little more certainty about her work schedule for the year, perhaps a nice gap where we’d start trying for a baby.   
Instead she’s rubbing her forehead in my trailer while talking to Anna on the phone.   
“I know, but he hasn’t been charged yet… Until then he’s free to work and live… yes, Anna. It sucks. You’re right… What did he want?”   
“Dom wants me to call him,” she says, turning to me after hanging up. “Said it was important.”   
“I wouldn’t,” I say simply. After the way he turned a blind eye to Patrick’s behaviour on every occasion I kind of wish we could have him thrown in jail, too.  
“I know you wouldn’t, babe.” She stands from the couch and leans into me for a hug. “Those jeans are hideous,” she says against my shirt.   
“They’re totally on trend for the eighties.”   
“They were just as hideous then,” she laughs.   
I don’t care that she’s not always present, that she’s always on the phone or worrying about work or Patrick. She’s here with me, on set some days or waiting at the hotel when I come home. It feels amazing and I’m not taking it for granted for one second.   
“I gotta go, you coming?”   
“In a bit, I’m going to call Dom.”   
“You know where I am if you need me.”

I know some actors find it horribly distracting having their significant others or family watching them work but that just doesn’t happen for us. Maybe because when we met we were working, or the way she watches me so intently and gives me little smiles of praise after the cut, but I thrive on having here there. The novelty will probably wear off when she starts nitpicking – and she will, she’ll have the best intentions but she can’t help herself. She’s quiet the rest of the afternoon, chewing at her lip when I emerge from the shower, toying with her wine glass over dinner and looking over her shoulder every five seconds, pushing her risotto around instead of eating it.   
“What’s wrong, babe?”   
“Dom made a suggestion that he and some other directors would agree not to work with Patrick any more if I drop the case.”   
I shake my head and open my mouth to speak but she cuts me off.   
“Before you say anything, think about it for a minute. They’re admitting he did wrong and they covered for him, it would mean I can still work.”   
“Lu, they’re cutting him a deal so he gets off. You don’t think he’ll just find work somewhere else? Who’s to say they won’t just go back on it when it blows over, you can’t hold them to it forever.”   
She looks down at her lap. “People are starting to talk.”   
“Let them talk. Hey,” I reach across for her hand, smoothing my thumb over her knuckles. “I know it’s killing you not knowing when things will happen, but they will. He’ll be convicted – “   
“You don’t know that,” she cuts in.   
“We have to believe that he will. It’s ok to feel like this, that’s why I’m here and it’s why I’m staying with you as much as I can. Don’t lose sight of the end goal, though.”   
“I just want it over with. I hired Anna and now she has nothing to do, two jobs I’ve applied for I’ve been knocked back and I’ll bet this is why.”   
“Is there anything I can do?”   
I’ve never felt so helpless and although I know it isn’t really my fault there’s still that little part of me that wonders if we wouldn’t have been able to work things out by staying together. He’d have turned his advances on someone else and I hate myself for thinking it but I wish he had. Anyone but my girl.   
“No. I’m sorry. Maybe when we get home you can snap me out of it.”   
I know what she’s thinking and I waggle my eyebrows just to make her smile, but it’s not that simple any more. Some of the things we used to do – the ones that drove her wild – just don’t feel right. When your wife has been raped, putting your hands anywhere near her throat or calling her your little slut, well… you just don’t.

She wouldn’t let me sit in on the meetings with the district attorney but I did eventually convince her to let me read the statement. I waited until she was out shopping in the hope of hiding the inevitable tears but she knows me better than that – she came home just in time to stop me punching a hole in something. It was entirely wrong for her to be the one comforting me again but that’s how it was, soothing me with her gentle hands on my face and her soft voice in my ear while I held her so tight I bruised her ribs.

Because of that I know the things he said to her, I know he held her down with a crushing hand on her chest even while she was coughing up her own blood. I know the disgusting words he grunted into her ear when he came and the state he left her for Anna to find the next morning – naked, bloodied, and bruised. I’m the first to admit my own flaws and I’m far from perfect, but I have never had trouble going as long as she can handle until now. His actions haunt me and catch me off guard, the images it’s left in my head flashing in front of me when she releases a particularly loud whimper, and on a couple of occasions I’ve had to give little Sebby a good pep talk and massage before I could continue.   
This is why I won’t let her give up. If I can’t fight the battle for her you can be damn sure I’ll be holding her up to fight it herself, defending her reputation with my last breath.

At the hotel she walks directly to the bathroom, depositing her jewellery on the dresser along the way and discardng her clothes on the bed. I follow a few steps behind and join her under the scalding shower. What they say about hot-blooded Italians has got to be true because even I can’t stand the water this hot, it’s a running joke between us that she runs it half cold when she knows I’m coming. She reaches across me and adjusts it, draping her arms around my neck and standing on her toes to kiss me.   
“I did do something positive today, I made an appointment with the doctor as soon as I’m home.”   
“What’s wrong? I thought you said everything was good?”   
“It is but if we want to get pregnant I have to stop the pill and be monitored, so…” she trails off and looks up at me, her eyes twinkling like the Mediterranean on a perfect summer day.   
“Really?”   
“It might take a few months so I thought we shouldn’t waste any time.”   
“You make me so happy, babe. I can’t wait.”   
“It might not be an easy road, you know.”   
“I know. Practice is the fun part.”   
I lather her skin tenderly, paying extra attention to her breasts, arse, and thighs until it’s a wonder we still have hot water. My lips slant down to hers while I turn off the water, my fingers running down her sides to cup her arse, making her whimper into my mouth.

As I lie her down on the bed I examine her skin under the lamplight, the olive of summer faded back to a hint of bronze. She’s all healed up but for the thin line on her cheek, only visible straight out of the shower or when her face is flushed and free of makeup. I rest my weight on my side with the length of my body pressed against her damp skin, let my fingers ghost over her while kissing her slowly and savouring every roll of our tongues. She cups my cheek and threads her fingers into my hair, turning her body to face me so I feel her nipples harden against my chest.

Her breath shudders out as I kiss behind her ear and down her neck, nipping at her collar bones and licking the hollow of her throat. A sweet sigh accompanies the soft pop of her nipple from my lips and I push her onto her back to take it between my teeth while my hand teases the insides of her thighs, she arches her back as I flutter against her hardened peak, opening her legs wide for me to explore her wetness.

She whines at the lack of contact when I move away, facing up toward the ceiling and wiggling my eyebrows at her.   
“Come sit on my face, baby doll.”   
Without hesitation she straddles my chest and reaches for my cock but I tap her hand away.   
“Uh-uh. Turn around.” She opens her mouth to argue but I silence her with a swat on her arse. “Just do it.”   
The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, bringing a drip of precum from my straining cock onto my stomach. I dip my tongue between her folds and taste her cream, licking a stripe straight up the centre that makes her gasp.

I’ve never been one of those men that just goes to town with slurps and swirls like I’m in some sort of watermelon-eating competition – not since my jaw cramped up when I was 18, at least – I much prefer to tease and take my time, wrapping my arms around her thighs to hold her still while I enjoy the taste and feel of her pussy on my mouth. The skin down there is like nothing else, so fragile and smooth, all intricate and soft and concealing the most sensitive part of her. I love to treat it just right and be rewarded with the swelling of her lips as her clitoris stands to attention and emerges from hiding, eagerly awaiting its own special attention. Until then I kiss her cunt just as I would her mouth, sealing my lips around it and drawing them closed while my tongue slides in and out of her folds. I look up at her hooded eyes, her hair falling forward into her face, hands gripping the headboard as she starts to rock her hips.   
“Mmm, baby,” she moans. “That feels amazing.”   
Her swollen bud is rolling against my lips now, I let my teeth gently graze it and she shivers and closes her eyes. I begin steadily sucking at it while continuing long licks between her folds, each one of my fingers holding tight to her thighs while she rocks and grinds against my face. With each second more of her essence spills onto my lips and face and her breath hitches in her throat. On a loud, low-pitched moan and a string of expletives she comes undone and her thighs quiver around me, I bring her down gently with light kisses until she raises her hips and smiles down at me.   
“Damn… your mouth.” She reaches a hand down and ruffles my hair playfully. “May I turn around now?”   
I nod and she turns so her mouth is lined up with my leaking cock, swiping the tip with her tongue before sliding her open mouth down halfway and tugging gently on my balls. Propping my head on another pillow gives me both hands free to knead her arse while I lick up the juices still leaking from her but my plans to bring her to another orgasm are foiled by the expert way she works more and more of my cock into her mouth while her hand tugs and toys with my sack. It’s all I can do to carry on breathing.   
“Oh, fuck… babe, stop.” The last thing I really want is for her to stop.

I wipe my mouth and guide her onto her back, sweeping the hair back from her face before kissing her slow and deep and slipping my cock inside her cunt. She meets each of my thrusts eagerly, wrapping her legs around me and crossing her ankles, pulling me in and rocking her hips to the same beat. Her hand slides wordlessly between us, thrumming hard at her clit until I feel her starting to tighten up again and her moans grow desperate. With a breathless groan I fill her with seed, carrying on with long strokes until she falls apart and flops back against the soft bedding.   
“I fucking love you, Tulia.” My lips graze hers when I speak, my face so close to hers I can see her eyes smile in the soft light.   
“I love fucking you, Sebastian,” she says with a laugh.

I wake with a start to a cold empty bed, listening for a few moments for signs of life elsewhere. There’s no clinking spoon in a bowl, no shower or hairdryer running, no name-calling so I know she’s not making coffee – yesterday the machine was both _pigyn_ and _puttana_ in the same breath, it’s so romantic when she slips between languages – but I can hear heavy rain so I know she’s not out running. Either way it’s getting light outside the window which means I have to drag myself out of bed to train; much as I wish I could just get the workout in the bed the Winter Soldier body demands a little more than sexercise can give me.   
“Hey, I was just about to wake you,” she says without turning from the window. From the steaming cup in her hands she’s either figured out the ‘dick whore of a machine’ or settled for instant. I wrap my arms around her from behind and nuzzle into the side of her neck, pressing a light kiss on her pulse.   
“Everything ok?”   
“My phone rang and woke me, then I couldn’t get back to sleep. It was the DA’s office, I might need to fly back. They arrested Patrick last night.”   
Game on, then. “What happens now?”   
“That’s up to him. Indictment tomorrow, he pleads guilty, it’s over. Otherwise he might draw it out with a preliminary hearing or we’ll go straight to trial. The DA is willing to make a deal to avoid going to trial but they think there’s enough evidence either way.” Her speech is robotic and her voice is almost identical to the assistant DA we spoke to before she made her statement.   
“So you might have to go back in the next couple of days?”   
“Yes. She will call as soon as she knows anything. I don’t have to, they can use my statement, but it would be better if I were there.”   
I mentally recall the filming schedule as of yesterday, considering where I could suggest scenes be moved around. “I’ll discuss it today, let them know I might have to leave on short notice.”   
“No. You’ll stay here and finish, I’ll call if I need you. Anna will be with me, It will be fine. If it goes to trial I’ll need you there and you can’t do both.”   
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. She’s right but I don’t have to like it. “Ok. You should just chill out here today. Or go see a movie and you can tell me all about the continuity errors tonight.”   
She laughs and leans back against me, bringing a hand up to scratch at the stubble on my jaw. “Maybe I will. Or take my mind off things with some retail therapy.”   
I scoff, because I know her better. Retail therapy is Tulia’s version of electroshock. “Go nuts.”

The following afternoon she greets me in my trailer before our last session, a pleasant surprise when I thought she was spending the day reading. She launches herself at me as soon as I open the door, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder. “Hey, you. What’s wrong?”   
“I got bored and needed a hug.”   
“Tulia,” I warn. “Tell me the truth.”   
“He’s pleading not guilty and they want a preliminary hearing. I don’t have to be there but it would help.”   
“Fuck, I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine having to talk about it in a courtroom, I don’t know what you should do. What are you thinking?”   
“I’m thinking I don’t want to but I should. He needs to be called out and I think I’m going to have to be the one to stand up.”   
“I wish you weren’t, but you’re right. I’m coming with you, babe.”   
She shakes her head. “You’re done at the end of next week, can you come then?”   
“Of course.”   
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a nanosecond of hesitation. Putting off a smaller production is one thing, but putting off a Marvel film that’s been planned down to the last second of filming like the notes of an orchestral score? That frightens the shit out of me.   
“People are talking about it, I ended up turning my phone off. Anna said she got a shitload of calls today, too.”   
“At least she’s got something to do,” I say with a coy smile, hoping she doesn’t bite my head off.   
To my relief a smile breaks through her strained expression. “I love you, smart arse.”


	19. Pub Time

## Tulia

I'm momentarily taken back by the photograph hanging back on the living room wall; either I'd become so used to averting my eyes from the spot or the picture I'd replaced it with had grown on me. Just like I used to I spend a few seconds admiring it with a smile, this time remembering Sebastian on a ladder trying to hang it back up unaided and failing miserably – apparently when I came home he'd been stuck there for a good half an hour having got it almost onto the hooks but not quite and fearing he'd tear it if he tried to get down.  
 _But he says I'm the stubborn one?  
_ Now that I've been fortunate enough to spend a solid month with him coming home alone is even more painful than I expected and I almost wish I'd agreed to him coming with me. I don't imagine this will be a short process though, and there's only so much time he can take. There isn't time for dwelling on it before I have to be at the DA's office, just enough for a shower and change of clothes.

“Coffee?” the secretary asks while I sit down.   
“God, yes. Please,” I answer with a nervous chuckle.   
“Coming right up. Miranda will be with you shortly.”   
I've only spoken with Miranda on the phone so I have no idea what she looks like but I imagine from the state of her desk she'll be impeccably presented. The 'Miranda Brady – Assistant District Attorney' sign at the front of the deep mahogany desk is so straight she must have used a ruler and I'm certain if I measured it would be precisely placed in the centre; the trays are aligned with the edge of the leather covering to a tiny fraction of an inch; pens all facing ceiling-ward in a 'Special Victims Bureau' coffee mug; the rest of the desk clear except for a laptop computer.   
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Tulia,” a familiar voice says from the door. I whip around to put a face to the woman who knows everything I wanted to keep to myself as she approaches in a navy blue skirt suit and smooth cream blouse. Her fiery red hair might not be natural but the faint splatter of freckles through her makeup tells me its base colour is what she was born with. Her eyes are deep brown and kind, the kind people naturally trust.

I stand and shake her hand before she sits on the other side of the desk.   
“We're going straight into the grand jury,” she says, getting right into business. “First thing tomorrow. I don't have a lot of time to prepare you, unfortunately. Just tell the truth. They might ask why you went to see a doctor with no recollection of having sex the night before and how you knew it was Patrick. We have evidence and they don't, so I'm fairly confident. We have to convince them that you not only didn't consent or make any suggestion of it but you said no.”  
“How do we prove that other than it being my word against his?”  
“The tissue damage you sustained and the fact your nose was bleeding. For the trial we'll have a doctor testify that the transfusion was due to blood loss and that you couldn't possibly have had consensual sex while bleeding so heavily. For this we only have to prove probable cause, that we have enough evidence to convict. I won't use you unless we absolutely have to, we'll use your statement and the testimony of the police, but I need you on standby just in case.”  
I nod, hoping I appear calmer than I feel. My gut is churning over and over like a squishy washing machine, my hands shaking so badly I'm sure I'm going to spill coffee on myself. Miranda takes me through the charges, explains the degrees and the additional charges, those for the initial assault and those for pushing me through the door. She knows I want to avoid putting it all out in public and I can't stop that if he goes to trial.  
“The best I'm hoping for is that he changes his plea after this and we'll avoid a trial. Everything that happens in a grand jury is closed so it can't be made public. There might be media there for Patrick, though.”  
“I'm not terrified people will find out, I'd just prefer for my sake and Sebastian's that they didn't.”  
“I understand,” she says quietly. “I want to put it in perspective, though. If you were shot or stabbed would you feel the same?”  
“No. I know it doesn't make sense.”  
It doesn't. Sebastian and I have talked about this at length, as have Anna and I. Intellectually I know it's ridiculous to be ashamed or embarrassed about being assaulted but I just can not stomach the idea of people knowing it happened. Perhaps its the potential of always being known as 'that woman who was raped.'

The following day is one of torture even though Anna has presented me with a new script to sink my teeth into. She makes me what feels like the fifth coffee for the day early in the afternoon, I've lost count at this point and I think she's filling me up with caffeine because I refused lunch. It's impossible to know when the case will be except that it was fifth on the list and Miranda promised to call. Finally the phone rings and I leap up to answer it, almost crash tackling Anna who has done the same.   
“You're not needed, we got an indictment. We're going to trial and I've asked for it to be expedited so you can get back to work but I expect it will be three months at least.”  
I nod and sigh.   
“Tulia?”  
“Yeah, that's great.”  
“There's time for him to change his plea and get it over with, but I spoke to his lawyer and unfortunately I can't see that happening. Firstly the guy has a good record getting his clients off this charge, usually on ridiculous technicalities or just by victim blaming, and he says Patrick said from the start he will not plead guilty under any circumstances to the sexual assault. He might to the assault at the bar if we drop the rest but I won't do that.”  
“Do I need to hang around or can I go back to Sebastian?”  
“Plan to stay here for a bit but I should know more tomorrow.”  
I don't even know what I want to do, I'm completely numb. I should be satisfied we got through this first stage, I should be ready to fight, but really I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep. Perhaps after a hot bath and a bucket of ice cream.

Instead Anna and I share a couple of bottles of wine and talk about anything and everything. She tells me all about Antonio, how he's visiting regularly but really wants her to return to Italy soon, that there has been some talk of him moving to New York which makes her voice rise and speed up almost to chipmunk levels. Her jaw drops when I tell her why I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow but excitement quickly takes over and she pulls me in a bear hug that knocks the air from my lungs.  
“Settle down, it's just an appointment,” I say with a laugh.   
“Yes but you're getting on with life, not getting stuck on what happened. Everyone thinks what you're doing is incredibly brave.”  
“Who the hell is everyone?”  
“I told you people are talking. Almost everyone I've spoken to recently has some sort of story about another woman he took advantage of or attempted to. Usually juniors just starting out. He should have known better than to mess with you, huh?”  
“I wish he had,” I whisper. “I'm not the brave woman who speaks out for everyone who's ever been wronged and stands up for women's rights or whatever. I just happen to be the one who drew police attention.”  
“Yeah I know, but you are.”  
“I'm not a heroine, Anna. I wish I'd never said anything that night, I wish I hadn't been there. But since I'm here and I can't go back I intend to make his existence miserable for a while.”  
“To making his life miserable, then,” she says, raising her glass.  
I give her a tight smile as I extend my glass and clink it against hers, downing a mouthful and setting it back on the table.

## *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the first warm breeze whispers a hint of spring we're on a short project in Scotland, my first for the year. I'm surprised by how much I'm enjoying the relaxed schedule when usually I prefer fast-paced and high pressure; perhaps I really am ready to take a step back from work. On a gloriously mild April afternoon we're filming beneath the infinite blue sky when the light becomes unworkable and the day is done.   
“Miranda called,” Anna says as she hands over my phone. “You have a court date in two weeks.”  
This couldn't be more perfect given we're due home in ten days. “Must be pub time,” I reply with a smile.   
'Pub time' has taken on a life of its own and is the reason I'm relieved we aren't here too long. I just don't have the constitution to keep up with the thoroughbred Scots that make up the majority of the small cast and crew.

I'm halfway through my first pint when a familiar scent fills my nostrils, closely followed by comforting arms wrapping tight around my waist from behind. All at once I'm leaning into the cosy embrace and jumping at the intrusion on my person, looking up into Sebastian's smiling blue eyes.  
“Surprise,” he says beside my ear, his warm breath making every nerve of my body stand at attention.   
I don't need to ask why he's here, in its downtime my brain has been consumed with analysing and filing away every slight change from moodiness to breast tenderness and icky-sticky things I never wanted to examine quite so closely. In three months I've gone from indifferent about babies to pinpoint-focused reproduction expert and the only person on this earth with a steeper learning curve has been my apprentice and husband. When I realised I'd be away for the entire ovulation window where the past two months we've gone at it like rabbits in a horny goat weed patch I was disappointed as much for the missed opportunity as at the idea of wasting a month and going through the hell that is my period without even attempting to prevent it.   
“How long do you have?” I ask, snatching my beer back from his hand.   
“Three days.”

In keeping with his usual efficiency he has me naked beneath him in just under 20 minutes, tugging gently on a nipple with his teeth while his fingers work inside my slick folds. I whimper at the loss when he pulls back to slide out of his pants, freeing his erection for me to fist in my hand while he thrusts his tongue between my lips. No sooner have I positioned his tip between my folds than he fills me in one push and makes me cry out and dig my nails into his back.  
“God I love that. I missed you so much.”  
“Mmh, me too, babe.” He pushes back for a better view and watches my finger rake down his chest as I start to lose myself in his magic, my moans urging him deeper. I feel the twisting and tightening beginning deep in my core, he winds me further by sitting on his heels and raising my ankles to his shoulders, holding my hips firm as he rocks against my g-spot.

He drags a hand down my body, detouring over both nipples and circling my navel before his thumb slips between my folds and over my clit, unravelling me almost immediately. With my walls still contacting over his shaft and my head still spinning he lets my legs fall either side of his waist and releases inside with a few barely controlled thrusts, his open mouth hovering over my lips and inhaling my laboured breath. He smiles and kisses me softly, taking his weight on his elbows while he nuzzles into my neck. I draw invisible shapes on his smooth back, tracing the contours of the hard muscles beneath his skin. Eventually he lies down on the pillow beside me and pulls me on top, draping me over his upper body.

“I got your message about the trial when I landed,” he says against my hair as I snuggle on his chest. “I'll be there.”  
“Only if you can. Anna will be with me the whole time.”  
“You'll be up in the first couple of days, right?”   
I nod.  
“I'll be home for that part at least.” He kisses the top of my head and curls his body around me, our sweaty skin pressed together in the early evening darkness. “So I gave notice on my apartment today. I have two months to get my stuff out.”  
“Where are you going to live?” I deadpan, barely biting back my excitement.   
“LA, I've always wanted to live on the beach. I can still keep that, right?”  
“Sure. You want the baby on weekends or shall we do alternating weeks?”  
“That's not funny,” he says with an exaggerated frown.  
“It is when it's a hypothetical baby.”  
I'm still giggling when he extracts himself and opens the door, remembering just a second too late that Anna and I are sharing an apartment.   
“Wait, don't!”  
I hear her squeak from the kitchen before he closes the door, leaning his head back on it as though she's about to try pushing through.  
“You don't pay me enough to deal with your husband naked, Tulia!”  
I stand up and pull on a robe, darting back out to gather up the clothes we discarded on the way to the bedroom. “Sorry, hun. I didn't think you'd be home yet... we sort of forgot...”  
“Yeah, I know.” She sighs and rolls her eyes, pointing with the knife in her hand toward the window. “Up there.”  
My shirt is hanging from the end of the curtain rod. “Oops... thanks. Send me the therapy bill.”  
She laughs. “I will. You guys want some dinner?”  
“Um...” We didn't think about food, we were too busy getting home and undressed. Now that I am thinking about it my stomach is rumbling.  
“I'm making Antonio's _spaghetti alla sorrentina_ ,” she says with a dramatic flourish of her hand. “There's plenty for Seb as well.”  
“Ok.” I hug her from behind. “Maybe we'll see if there's another vacant apartment for the next couple of nights.”  
“Don't be silly, I can handle it. I'll just put headphones in. Tulia, I love seeing you two so happy and in love, it's just beautiful. I knew you'd find your way back but I didn't imagine you'd end up even stronger than before, especially after all you endured in between.”  
“Either did I to be honest,” I say with a smile. “But here we are.”  
Seb emerges from the bathroom fully dressed with his wet hair combed back, sheepishly greeting Anna with a mumbled apology.   
“I promise to keep my pants on the rest of the time.”  
“That would sort of ruin the entire purpose of being here, wouldn't it?” Anna quips. “Just keep them on in the communal areas.”

I leave them to sort out their awkwardness while I take a quick shower, catching the end of their conversation when I open the door.  
“Thank you for taking care of her, she wouldn't have held up like she has without you,” Sebastian says. “Hey... come here.”  
I hear the faintest of whimpers and sniffles and my heart leaps into my throat. _She's crying._ I freeze against the wall of the tiny hallway, straining to hear their muffled conversation but unable to make out anything other than Seb whispering “it wasn't your fault.”  
With a loud clearing of my throat I pull the door closed hard enough to make my presence known and I hear more sniffles while I'm pulling on leggings and a shirt in the bedroom.  
“Everything ok?” I ask as I lean on the kitchen bench.  
“Yeah, fine. Seb was just helping with the pasta, it's almost ready.”  
Not wanting to upset her further I decide to let it go for now but plan on bringing it up once he's gone back to Atlanta.

The following day she saves me the trouble. “Whatever you overheard yesterday...” she begins over lunch.  
“All I heard was you crying. What's going on?”  
“He just caught me in an emotional moment, we were talking about how happy and healthy you are and he said I was partly responsible.”  
“You are.”  
“Tulia, if I hadn't been so careless and gone home with Antonio that night... if I'd checked on you when I heard noises... I should have. I let you down, both of you.”  
“You listen to me, Anna. Nothing you did made it happen, and nothing you did could have stopped it. I told you to go, Dom said he'd walk me home. Everyone thought Patrick was harmless, including me. I don't ever want to hear you blame yourself, got it?”  
She nods and hugs me tight. “I'm still so sorry, honey. I wish I could have done something.”  
“You did, you've done more for me than anyone else in my life, I can never thank you enough. And you put up with me every day.”  
Anna laughs through her sniffles and slaps my shoulder. “That's because you pay me.”

On our last morning together I stand dripping in the doorway and drink in my gorgeous husband lying stark naked and spread out on the bed, exactly where he flopped to a few minutes ago. The acrid scent of sex is thick in the air and after closing the door softly I remove my towel to dry my hair, all the while watching his muscled chest rise and fall, his jaw length hair fanned out on the pillow. He opens one mischievous blue eye and raises his eyebrow, his cock immediately leaping from its bed of short dark curls to stand ready.   
“What're you doin', little lady?”  
“Ogling my man.”  
“Didn't you get enough the first time around?”  
“Did you?” I toss back, gesturing to his erection as I kneel at the end of the bed and run my fingers hard up the insides of his thighs.   
“Awww, come on now, doll. You gotta go to work.”  
“I can spare a few minutes. I'll skip breakfast.” I straddle him and tease his erection between my folds, sinking down on his length with a quiet sigh. “Unless you don't think you can deliver the goods again so soon?”  
Seb growls through his teeth and thrusts his hips upward, lifting me up until I squeal. When he lets me fall back down he grabs my hips and raises me up again before lowering me, gradually increasing the speed until the bed is squeaking in protest at our combined weight slamming down on the mattress.

I reach down between us so that every movement grazes my clit onto my hand and after a few minutes Seb switches his directions to back and forth, his breath laboured as harsh grunts tear from his throat. My fingers flutter fast on my bud until I come undone with a shudder around his shaft and a moan barely muffled by my closed lips. He takes my hands and pulls me down on top of him, holding me tight while he thrusts up and slaps his balls against me over and over, finally biting down on my shoulder and spilling inside.

“Consider the goods delivered,” he says a few minutes later, tossing my damp towel at me from the door handle.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm... don't hate me. Happy ending, I promise.

## Sebastian

After my quick jaunt to Scotland the two weeks drag at a snail's pace even though we're flat out getting a few extra scenes in. Joe and Anthony have been amazing to me, letting me have a yet indeterminate amount of time to support Tulia before I return. I've given up hope that the trial will go quickly, from what I know about Patrick and his defence he plans to drag Tulia through the mud as much as he possibly can even thought the DA is confident he'll be convicted. I don't even want it over quickly so I can go back to work, I just want to put it behind us and get our lives back. Even though the circumstances aren't ideal I'm excited about going home for the first time since officially moving back in.

“Tulia?” I call from the door. “You here?”  
“Sure am,” she says from the kitchen. “Good timing.”   
As soon as I set my bag down she hands me a freshly brewed coffee, which I promptly set down on the bench. “I need some sugar first,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and leaning in for a kiss.  
“There's sugar in it,” she murmurs against my lips.  
“Oh, in that case...” I make to pull away and she laughs that melodious laugh I've missed so much as she pulls my neck down to kiss me until she's out of breath. “How are you doing?” I ask when we've parted and she picks up her cup.  
“I probably should lay off the coffee and switch to something calming, but I'm ok. I missed you.”  
“Missed you too, babe.” I move behind her and knead her shoulders, feeling her muscles soften under my fingers. “Can I do anything?”  
“You're doing it,” she groans, letting her head drop forward. “How was your flight?”  
“Uneventful.” At least if you don't count the mob of people asking me questions at the airport. Now that the trial is close everything has gone public and although the world doesn't know the explicit details they know Patrick is being charged and Tulia is involved, so they seem to think I'm going to give some sort of impromptu press conference on her behalf at the JFK terminal. I left that part out for two reasons: she already knows, and she doesn't need to hear about it.

After her coffee – which I've made a mental note to encourage her out of because she's wide awake at 10pm and drinking way too much of the stuff – I run her a bath and fill the bathroom with lavender candles. I'm not entirely sure how she feels about lavender but if she hates it she's in for an unpleasant experience; I added a double dose of bubble bath in the same scent. It's only when she's undressing that the thought occurs we might have so much of the stuff in the bathroom cabinet because she doesn't like it, and now my stomach is all knotted up.  
“You like lavender, right? It's supposed to be relaxing. Matt says they use it in Bethany's bath to help her sleep.”  
“I do, it's perfect. Thank you.”  
“I was worried there was so much because you didn't use it.”  
“There's so much because people have been gifting it to me from all directions. Apparently you're not the only one who thinks I need to chill out, the candles were a gift from Amy and Matt.”

While she's soaking I unpack the washing I've brought home and dim the lights in the bedroom in the hope she might get some sleep tonight, failing all else maybe I can orgasm her into a coma. I'm sitting up in bed reading and waiting for her when my phone pings with a message from Michelle:  
[Hey, you in NY or Atlanta?]  
[NY for a few days at least. What's up?]  
[Can we meet up for coffee or something? I'm there at the end of the week for a couple of days. Only if it's not too much for Tulia with the trial and everything, I don't want to drag you away when she needs you.]  
[I'm sure I can squeeze it in somewhere. How are you?]  
[I'm great, I have a few meetings set up there. I'm thinking of you guys xx]  
[Thanks, that means a lot. We'll see how court goes tomorrow, I should have a better idea when we can catch up.]  
[Ok. Talk soon.]  
“Hey handsome,” Tulia purrs from the doorway. She's leaning against the door jamb, completely naked with one arm above her head and the other on her hip. “You naked under there?”  
I swallow hard and wriggle out of my pants so fast my toes get tangled in the sheet. “Yep.”  
Her seductive demeanour disappears as she laughs, leaping onto the bed beside me. “Smooth. Very smooth.”  
“How was your bath?”  
“Relaxing, but a little lonely.” She runs a hand down the centre of my chest and kisses my neck, sweeping the hair aside with her nose. My cock brushes against the sheet as it hardens and she palms it through the soft cotton. Pushing the sheet down to my knees she shifts down and takes me straight in her mouth, making me gasp at her speed.   
“Jesus, woman.”  
Before I can say any more she's straddling me and taking my dick deep into her warm cunt, rolling her hips along my length. I take her hips in my hands and guide her movements, watching her head fall back with a low moan. She's urgent and demanding, pressing her body down into mine and sucking my tongue into her mouth, grazing my lip with her teeth and raking my hair back with her fingers.   
“Make me yours, baby. Remind me I'm all yours,” she whispers against my jaw.

I flip us both over and sink back into her slick heat, eliciting a long moan. As I make love to her I nip and suck at her breasts, tugging her nipples with my teeth, and she claws at my shoulders and back. She pulls on my neck to crash our mouths together, whimpering into my mouth as she thrusts up against me and her walls clench around my cock. I slow my strokes and draw her climax out until she flops back against the pillow, pausing to look down at her.   
“You're my girl. My wife. Always mine.” I kiss her long and slow and then resume, moving inside her with long deep strokes and caressing her face with a gentle hand.   
“I belong to you, Sebastian.”  
“Show me, baby doll,” I say as I guide one of her hands between us to her clit. “Come for me again.”  
I can barely hold back my orgasm, watching her writhe beneath me as he rubs herself. Her nails leave pink trails down my back and she slaps her hips upward against mine, her breath shallow and fast, her moans turning almost to screams by the time I finally feel her unravel and spasm. With a grunt I release and spurt into her until cum spills back out around my cock, collapsing down on top of her and gasping for air like I've forgotten how to breathe.   
Just as she's falling asleep I clean her up with a warm washcloth and pat her dry, returning from the bathroom to find her peacefully cuddling my pillow . I debate whether to disturb her but I needn't have bothered, I slip in and wrap my arms around her and she snuggles into me with a tiny murmured “I love you” before she's sound asleep.

I love Tulia with all of my heart and soul, her little quirks and funny habits, her potty mouth and even her stubbornness. Sometimes, like today, that same spirit I love so much makes her a little difficult. She's anxious, I understand that because I'm feeling a tiny fraction of it myself in sympathy, but she won't eat or drink anything but coffee. It's late afternoon and we've sat around the court house all day but not a bite has passed her lips the entire time, she wouldn't even split a chocolate slice with me. Finally Miranda emerges and gives us both a sympathetic look.   
“You're up first thing tomorrow, Tulia. We're done for today.”  
Tulia nods and looks like she might just sink out of her chair onto the floor.  
“How did it go?” I ask.  
“Very well, I think. They're claiming you consented, that he didn't realise your nose was bleeding or you were so intoxicated. So he admits you had sex but says it was consensual. They'll try to pass off your injuries as caused by your blood disorder.” She rests a hand on Tulia's leg. “You don't have to do this face to face, we have the option of separate rooms.”  
Tulia shakes her head. “I'll be fine. If I worked with him for weeks after I can face him this once, right?”  
“I'll meet you here in the morning.”

Ignoring the waiting media we escape out the side door and she laces her fingers into mine, walking silently toward home a couple of blocks before she stops suddenly.  
“Matt and Amy have been asking when we'd come around, how about now? We could grab some takeout on the way, go see how baby Bethany is doing?”  
“Are you sure you're up for that?”  
She nods and turns to cross the street while I pull out my phone and call Matt.

“She's getting so big!” Tulia exclaims over the now four month old as she lifts her from the rocker on the floor. “Hello, gorgeous!”  
Seeing Tulia cluck like this is almost unnerving, and yet I'm not surprised. When she wants something and sets her mind to it no power on this earth will stop her from going after it, and one way or another she will make it happen. We are now in full steam baby mode.  
“Hey, lil girl.” Bethany giggles at me, I have absolutely no idea why or what's funny about me, but she does. Babies just like me, I do not understand it.  
After a few minutes she hands the baby to me and I hear her clucking away with Amy in the kitchen, no doubt discussing teeny tiny clothes or something. There are squeals of delight over goodness knows what and they disappear for a while but she looks a little less excited upon her return.  
“How did it go today?” Matt asks.   
“Difficult to say but Miranda seems confident. I'm really worrying about tomorrow though, Tulia will have to give evidence and probably be torn to shreds by the defence.”  
“I find it hard to imagine she won't hold her own, I'd be more worried about her losing her shit when they try to imply she asked for it.”  
“There's that, too.” I chuckle softly at the thought. “She hasn't eaten today and I doubt she did yesterday. Remember how she looked when she first came back from Italy?”  
“I think everyone at that party remembers Tulia that night. Holy hell.”  
“She's just got some meat back on her, I don't want that to happen again.”  
“Give it time, I'm sure she'll be fine. All settled back in?”  
“Yeah, it's good to be home. We're actually trying to get pregnant.”  
“You want a baby to practice with? She's really got the sleepless nights down.”  
“No,” I laugh, “but any time you need a babysitter we'd be more than happy to.”  
“I might just take you up on that.”   
Bethany has cuddled herself against my chest while we've been talking, her face pressed against my neck so her tiny warm breaths tickle my skin. I can't believe how she's grown in such a short time, the changes since I helped her trifling crimson body into the world kicking and screaming her little lungs out. Her eyes are light blue, almost a silver-grey, her cheeks the kind of jolly pink you just have to squeeze, her big gummy smiles impossible to not reciprocate. I'm disappointed when I have to hand her back to Amy for bedtime, the rest of us waiting until she's asleep to dig in to boxes of Chinese food. Tulia's plate barely contains a few mouthfuls and the majority is just pushed around the plate to throw the others off, but I see right through her.   
“You gotta eat, babe,” I say into her ear.   
She gives me a look that's genuinely apologetic, like she desperately wants to do it just for me but her stomach won't cooperate.

When we get home I have some phone calls to return and by the time I'm done she's showered and waiting for me in bed. I slide in beside her and wrap her up in my arms, resting her head on my chest.  
“What were you and Amy getting all mother hen about?” I ask.  
“Nothing,” she says quietly. For a minute or so she's silent and then I feel her head shift on my chest. “Probably nothing. Don't freak out, ok?”  
“What?”  
“She made me do a pregnancy test. My period is late.”  
“How late?”  
“A couple of – “  
“Wait,” I interject. “Was it positive?”  
“No. And it's only a couple of days so it could go either way, maybe it's too early to tell.”  
Telling me not to get excited it a lot like telling a kid not to get excited on Christmas Eve, it's just not going to happen. Logically I know it's really early and she's just as likely inexplicably late as she is pregnant, especially when the test was negative, but my hopes are sky high and I'm not even going to try to feign ambivalence. Tulia is keen to get her work schedule sorted out and she won't admit it but I think she's holding off a little in case she does fall pregnant quickly, and I know how she hates not knowing what's coming for the next twelve months. We both know life doesn't go to plan but that's the way she is, and there's the added pressure of the hellish periods she's suffering through every month we're unsuccessful.

As I rest my arm on her waist my hand falls easily onto her belly and my heart immediately swells at the thought of her carrying my child in there. Everything else aside, the purest desire I have right now is being a father. She's tense in my arms and I'm watching the minutes tick by on the clock, refusing to go to sleep until I know she's getting some rest.   
“Sebs? Sing to me?”   
“Any requests?”  
“Surprise me.”  
 _Little trip to heaven_ by Tom Waits was our wedding waltz song and as soon as I hum the intro I can feel her lips curl against my neck, her body grow heavier. At the risk of sounding like a sentimental sap I can't listen to it without recalling the moment and for the minutes I'm singing her to sleep I'm right back on the dance floor surrounded by soft lighting and swaying with her in my arms, smiling down at my new wife.

Early in the morning I leave her sleeping to make coffee and toast for us both, watching a perfect spring day dawn over New York. While I'm buttering her toast I hear the shower start up and figure my timing is spot on, piling it all onto a tray to take to the bedroom. And then I hear her gasp and heave. My heart leaps into my throat because usually when this happens its messy, related to her bleeding disorder and half the time ends with emergency room intervention.   
_Not today. We don't have time for this shit today._  
“You ok?” I ask, peeking around the bathroom door.  
“Yeah, just upset stomach. I'll be fine.”  
Now my heart is racing for a different reason, my mind frantically fitting together the pieces – she's sick and it's morning and she's late. She decided from the beginning not to keep pregnancy tests in the house because she'd be taking one every time there might be a slim chance of an early positive, but I'm wondering now if I should go get one. Then again, we don't have time for _that_ today, either.   
“Cramps?” I prompt when she emerges and scrunches her nose up at a bite of toast.   
“No, I'm guessing it's because I didn't eat yesterday. I'm fine.” She sips her coffee and sets it down, pulling a dark grey pant suit from the wardrobe with a pink ruffled blouse. “Sebastian... I don't think you should stay for the entire thing today. Maybe you could go get something to eat with Matt or something and come back for me when I'm done?”  
“I'm staying, I'm here to support you. What's this really about?”  
“They're trying to cast doubt over my character, whether I just got drunk and then tried to blame him. It might get nasty and you don't need to hear it.”  
“I'll deal with it. Don't you think for one second I'll let you look up and not find me there.”  
At least today begins better, she ends up finishing off the toast and is more pink than green hued when we leave the house.

I was in no way prepared for this. I thought I was strong and knew what I was in for but hearing her retell the events is too much. She sat beside me with my hand clamped so tight in hers I could feel the bones rubbing together and when Patrick came in she shuddered and put a hand over her mouth, I was sure she was about to vomit again. That was a blessing in disguise because I was so focused on Tulia that I didn't have a chance to march over there and knock his head off as I so desperately want to do. Now she sits in the witness box, alone in front of a room full of people, laying her most intimate shame bare for the world to see. Every time her eyes flick over to me for reassurance, every time I hear the telltale tremble in her voice, every time she's reduced to a whisper and doesn't want to say the words aloud, the knife in my chest is twisted a little deeper. Once the defence lawyer starts questioning her testimony my hands are clenched so tight my nails leave crescents in my own palms and my teeth grind together until I'm sure they'll crack, but I put my professional face on and try not to let it show. The lawyer is the typical sleaze in a suave suit with slicked back hair, the kind I imagine makes his fortune getting assholes like Patrick off even though he knows damn well they're guilty. Anna lays a gentle hand on my leg , as though the light touch alone will ground me and hold me back from anything stupid.  
“How much did you recall the following morning?”  
“Very little,” Tulia says. “It wasn't until that evening I began to remember.”  
“So you didn't see a doctor because you thought you were assaulted?”  
“I saw a doctor because I was in a great deal of pain.”  
“And they suggested you might have been assaulted?”  
“Yes.”  
“Isn't it possible that your sudden recollection grew from the seed they planted in your mind, when in actual fact you sustained some minor irritation from consensual sex?”  
“I don't believe that's what happened.” Even at this distance I can see the twitch of muscle in her jaw.   
“But you denied any knowledge of being assaulted.”  
“I also denied any knowledge of intercourse.”  
“But then you remembered the necklace and confronted the defendant?”  
“That evening, yes.”  
“Because you'd started to remember. You accused him of rape.”  
“Yes.”  
“Why does your statement say you went there to ask what happened, if you already knew what happened?”  
Anyone who didn't know her like I do wouldn't see the recoil, the realisation that she's backed into a corner making her mouth set in a tight line as she fights to hold it together, the quiver in her voice when she responds.   
“I had pieces of the events and I needed to ask how they fit together. I knew something had happened, that it was violent enough for me to break the necklace from his neck. His shirt was covered in blood and my nose had been bleeding all night which would prevent me from having sex.”  
“The shirt in question wasn't recovered from his belongings, though. He denies it ever existed. It could have started bleeding at any point during the night and I don't see how it would prevent sex altogether.”  
“Then you've never seen a nose bleed like mine.”  
“Going on my client's version of events and the actual evidence, here's what I think happened: you were intoxicated, you invited him in, you had sex. Maybe it was a little rougher than you're used to. At some point your nose started to bleed but you were too drunk to notice, you woke up the next morning and went to the doctor. They asked if you'd had sex and then it all came flooding back but you were embarrassed that you'd slept with a coworker when you were still married so you said no, but then they asked if you'd been assaulted and you saw a clever way out of the shame of your own behaviour.”  
“That's not what happened,” she squeaks. She's visibly shaken now and I don't know how long she'll hold up.   
“Ms Campbell I simply do not understand how a jury can find my client guilty when you don't have a clear recollection of the events yourself. You left the establishment with him willingly, you didn't report the alleged assault until months later, there are no witnesses to attest to any sort of coercion nor any definitive evidence to suggest you didn't consent.”  
“But I – “  
“I have nothing further for this witness.”  
I see Miranda raise a finger to her lips from the corner of her eye, silencing Tulia. “I'd like to request a short recess, your honour.”

I stand out of my seat but Miranda blocks my path. “I need you to stay here,” she says sternly. “I need to put her back up there after the break and set things straight.”  
“Well let me see her.”  
“No, Sebastian. She's about to crumble and if she sees you she will. I can't let that happen. After lunch you'll be able to take her home.” She doesn't wait for me to back down, just turns on her heel and takes Tulia's arm to escort her from the room. Anna does her best to keep me sane but for the entire ten minutes I cross and uncross my legs, wring my hands together, tap my toes on the shiny wooden floor. When they return the colour has drained from Tulia's face and she wobbles slightly on her feet but she sends a reassuring nod in my direction and ascends once more to the witness box under her own steam.

Miranda spends another hour on follow-up questioning, focusing on why she waited so long to report the incident and how she coped with working with him, mentioning the assault at the bar without giving details because it's a separate case. By the time they're done her eyes are red-ringed and she looks about to pass out, finally being released for me to take her home.   
“You did fantastic, Tulia,” Miranda reassures her. “I'll call you later.”

There's more media today, tipped off to the fact she was testifying. Like vultures they fight over each other and call questions to us in the hope of just one utterance or anguished expression, even a curse or sigh of frustration. With a protective hand I lead her to the waiting cab, keeping her in my grasp as we drive off toward home.  
“Seb, you're hurting me,” she whispers, pulling her hand away.  
“Sorry, babe. Are you... Do you want... Can I do anything?”  
“No, I just want to go home. Maybe do some reading and have some alone time.”  
“Oh.” I know better than to take that personally, she's a woman who knows what she needs and sometimes she just wants to decompress all by herself. “Would it be ok if I went to the gym, then? Anna will be with you until I get back.”  
“Of course.”

I'm surprised at the circuit Don has set up for me when I arrive, I'm used to weights or functional stuff and instead he takes me to the back room where he's set up a couple of punching bags and a thick set of pads. He wordlessly clicks the door closed and tosses me a pair of inners and gloves, slipping his hands into the pads while I put them on. Having spent the morning staring at the back of Patrick's head I'm about ready to do some serious damage so for his sake I'm relieved he has me start with the heavy bag and the speed ball.

Not once does he ask how Tulia's testimony went or if I'm ok, just keeps putting things in front of me and instructing me to punch or kick with all I've got, until all I've got is legs and arms of jelly and he lets me hit into him for a while longer.   
“You wanna talk about it?” he asks when I slide down to sitting against the wall and tip a trickle of water down my parched throat.  
“No. Thanks, though.”  
“Any time. You know where to find me.” He takes a swig from his water bottle and slaps my shoulder before he stands to leave. “You're welcome to stay until you feel better, take as long as you want.”  
When I get back up I realise the tension in my shoulders and stomach is building all over again, so I give it another go. And another. And another, until my knuckles are bruised in spite of the padding and my lungs scream for a break.

The only sound when I enter is the rattle of my keys in the door, the air is so still I feel I should walk slowly so as not to disturb the calm. I quietly shrug off my coat and toe off my shoes, hanging my cap in the closet along with them. Down the hall I see the darkened bedroom doorway and assume Tulia is resting so I shower in the main bathroom before I find Anna in the office. She looks up at me with a pained smile at odds with the sympathy in her eyes.   
“How's she doing?”  
“She's napping I think. She didn't really want to talk but I had to go get her some painkillers, I made her eat half a sandwich first.” She grins ever so slightly, just a tiny victorious curl in the side of her mouth.   
“Are you all right?”  
“Yeah, I just... I was right there. I could have done something.”  
“Anna, you couldn't have. Please don't beat yourself up over this. I hope now it's all over, we can get back to some normality.”  
It kills me to see her so guilt-ridden when she's always taken such good care of Tulia when I wasn't there, I wish I could convince her that she has no responsibility.

I peek in on Tulia a few times and find her sleeping, only after Anna has gone home do I hear her groan from the bedroom and slide in beside her.  
“What's wrong, babydoll?”  
She turns over and buries her face in my chest. “I'm not pregnant.”  
“I'm sorry, Lu,” I coo as I rub her lower back. “Can I get you anything?”  
Her nose brushes through my shirt as she shakes her head. “Just keep rubbing, it's killing me.”  
Lying in my arms she relaxes into me, occasionally she curls her legs up and clutches at my waist and I stroke harder with my knuckles in slow circles just below her hips. I've never seen her in this much pain but I remember being startled when she told me she'd been on the pill since she was 13 and now I understand the reasoning, she's been practically bedridden for four days every month so far.   
“I don't want to do this any more,” she says with a soft whine.   
“Ok. Whatever you want, babe. I can take you to the doctor tomorrow and get a new script.”  
“Not just that, all of it. I don't want to be the one that stands up, I want it to go away. I wish I could just take it all back and forget about it.”  
“I can't fix that, Lu. I'm sorry.”  
“I don't want to be brave and independent any more and roll with every punch and pretend everything is fine.” Her sobs are muffled by my shirt, my chest feels like it will explode as my heart tries to punch its way out.   
“Then fall apart, my little doll. I'll pick up the pieces.”

The next afternoon she's almost upright and discussing work with Anna, insisting I go out for a while.   
“I know you,” she says, her stubbornness back in full force. “You'll go stir crazy if you stay indoors. Anna is here, I'll be fine.”  
“Ok. Actually Michelle is...” _What the fuck am I thinking, bringing up Michelle now?!_  
“In town?”  
“Yeah. I might give Matt a call or go to the gym.”  
“Seb, if you want to catch up with Michelle then do it. I'm not going to get in the way of you being friends.”  
“That's not weird, leaving you here to go see her?”  
“Are you going to sneak up to her room and have sex?” she says with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile.  
“Of course not.”  
“Then it's fine. Get out of here before we both go crazy.”  
Anna just looks from one of us to the other with her mouth open like she's watching two clowns play tennis.

I feel a stab of guilt when Michelle asks if we can have coffee in her room instead of the cafe, but I can't argue with her logic. Being photographed in a cafe with my ex would just be perfect right now. Once we're behind closed doors I lean down and kiss her cheek, following her to the table and lounge chairs under the window, looking out over a cloud covered city. She looks different but I can't put my finger on how, I figure she's changed her hair a couple of shades or I'm just not used to seeing her in loose clothing. With the pleasantries and inevitable discussion about work and the trial out of the way I notice her hands fidgeting with her coffee cup like she's nervous.  
“What's going on with you?” I ask casually.  
“Actually I have some news. Um... I'm pregnant.”  
“That's fantastic, congratulations! I didn't know you were seeing anyone.”  
“I'm not.” She pauses and runs a finger over her lips. “I uh... god this is really hard...”  
“Chelle, whatever it is you can tell me.” I reach out and lay my hand over hers.   
“It's yours, Seb.”  
I recoil and shake my head. “It can't... that doesn't make any sense.”  
“I'm so sorry. I found out at the end of January, it must have happened last time we were together. I'm almost 20 weeks.” She draws a shaky breath and refuses to look at me. “I don't want anything if that's how you want it to be, I know you and Tulia are just getting back on track and if you want me to just say it's someone else's I'll do that. I made the decision to keep it without relying on your involvement.”  
“You really think I'd turn my back on my own child?” I snap, rising sharply out of my chair. “Just what, pretend it doesn't have a father even though I know it's mine? How can you even suggest that?”  
“I only meant you can be involved as much or as little as you like. Look at it like children who are conceived to single mothers with a sperm donor, that happens all the time.”  
“So I'm just a sperm donor, now?”  
“Well fuck I'm sorry, we must have just loved one another so much it made a whole new person. This is why I waited so long, I wasn't sure whether to tell you at all. I don't want to ruin your marriage, I don't want you to be the butt of everyone's gossip, I didn't do this on purpose but it's done.”  
“Fuck.” I sigh and fall back into the chair, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You're right. I'm sorry.”  
By the time I leave the shock has worn off and a lead weight has made its home in my stomach. I call to check on Tulia and Anna says she's gone back to bed so my next call is to Don. “I'm gonna need that punching bag again.”

 


	21. It should have been me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second last chapter *sniff sniff*, last one will be posted next week and then an epilogue the following week.

My previous laptop was an easily overwhelmed piece of equipment which would simply turn its entire screen blue with an error message if I tried to run too many processes simultaneously. At the time Anna told me the technical term was BSOD – or blue screen of death – which even then sounded rather dramatic to me. The poor thing was just unable to cope with so many thoughts and operations all at the same time and so it would apologetically switch off and kindly ask that you not work it quite so hard next time. It wasn't dead, it was tired.

If people could do the same I'd be easily mistaken for a Smurf. Unsurprisingly when I tried to explain this to Anna, Sebastian, and Miranda in between hysterical sobbing they thought I'd lost the plot. The men with the straight jackets might not have been on the road yet, but they were standing by in the van just waiting for the address to pick me up. So instead I retreated to the bathroom and locked the door, sat on the floor of a scalding hot shower and did exactly what I used to do with that poor little laptop.  
One thing at a time.

When I emerge dressed in a skirt suit with immaculate hair and makeup Seb and Anna's jaws drop – I imagine they are both mentally reaching for the phone to get that van on the way.  
“Tulia, you don't have to be there today,” Anna says in reference to my appearance for the jury verdict.  
“I want to be.” I wait until she's left the room to turn calmly to Sebastian, who looks far worse for wear than I do. “If you're still coming, get ready. I don't want to hear any more apologies, I'm not dealing with the Michelle situation until this one is finished with.” He looks awestruck for a moment and then composes himself, turning on his heel toward the bedroom without another word. Anna knows something is going on because she came running toward the sound of my screaming when he told me, but I've yet to tell her exactly what.

A jury handing down their verdict is much less dramatic in person than on television and despite hearing that Patrick will be spending two years behind bars there's no cheering or yelling from either side, just a sigh of relief from the three of us. Miranda thanks me, which feels entirely topsy turvy from my position, and we head out the doors to a barrage of photographers. We knew this was coming, they've been here every day because it's a reasonably high profile case but we've given them the slip every time. There's no hiding today, might as well get it over with.

Sebastian stiffens. I can feel the tension rippling off him in waves, the inner turmoil of wanting to stand by me but knowing I can barely look at him. He makes to put his arm around me and thinks better of it, instead touching our shoulders together while Anna opens the doors. As soon as the flashes and questions begin I grab onto his hand, squeezing it tight in search of the strength I just don't have, and he gives it freely. I do all of the talking, mostly from a statement we prepared with the help of publicity extraordinaire Victoria, and I answer two questions basically asking if I'm proud to be standing up for all women and what the feminism movement means to me before I have to get out of there. I doubt my response will be quoted anywhere, they were probably after more than 'let's not confuse justice with feminism' and 'not being raped is nothing to do with gender equality, it's a basic human right'. I'm not a big picture kind of person, the immediate area I can affect in this world is small, and I'm completely fine with that.

I dismiss Anna for the remainder of the day and possibly tomorrow so once we're home it's just Sebastian and I. We sit in the living room on separate couches, neither wanting to be the first to speak for fear of misstepping. I know there's nothing I can do about the baby and I would never keep Sebastian away from what might well be his only child. If we are to stay together then I have to find a way to deal with it and be supportive. Unfortunately I don't know how to do that, or how long it might take for me to get there. Even though I know the conception happened while we were separated, that there's really no deceit or betrayal at play here, I feel utterly cheated. His children should have been with me, and although the honour of carrying his child hasn't been denied me entirely the special significance of mothering his first child has. Not to mention the hell I'm enduring while we try to conceive deliberately, with all of the most accurate scheduling and planning, the vitamins and minerals and assorted supplements, the medication to ensure the little embryo will want to hang around a while in my uterus... to have it happen for him with another woman who was on birth control is a sickening kick in the guts.   
“Have you booked a flight back to Atlanta?” I ask suddenly.   
“No, why?”  
“You need to get back to work, they won't wait forever.”  
“I know but I couldn't go back before today and we didn't know the verdict was coming until a couple of hours before.”  
“Well now you can.”  
“Tulia, I need to know what you're thinking. Are you asking me to leave, or just give you some space?”   
“I'm thinking I've been backed into a corner, here. I don't know if I can do this; be with you while someone else is having your baby, but if I can't... I don't have any good options. And I know I should be supporting you because it's hard on you too, but...” I blink back tears rather than finish the thought.  
“But what?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Please, Lu. Tell me.”  
“You're getting what you wanted. What we wanted. Either way you get to be a father and I'm just... a part of me hates you for that.”  
He moves from the couch to sit on the floor in front of me, his head resting on my thighs and his arms wrapped tight around my hips. “I'm sorry,” he whispers between sniffs. “I'm so sorry.”

The following morning he waits by the door, sipping from his coffee cup with his suitcase at the ready. I step into his arms and rest my head on his chest, relishing his heart beating beneath my ear.   
“I love you, baby doll,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I'll call you tonight.”  
“Love you too.” I nuzzle into his neck and drink in his scent. “Miss you already.”  
“Me too. Let me know when you're ready to come and visit. Or... you know.”  
“I wish I could just give you an answer or a timeframe.”  
“You can't, I know. It's ok. Take your time.”  
I lean back to look at him and he slants his lips down, hovering a milimetre away from mine. I close the gap and kiss him hard, pulling him in by the neck and lashing our tongues together until we hear the horn from the cab outside.  
“That's my ride, doll.”  
And then he's gone and I'm wandering around an empty apartment again.

Watching Anna's face contort from concern to disbelief to absolute horror almost made the whole situation comical and I actually laughed for the first time in days. Now I'm sitting in a hotel cafe having the strangest conversation of my life.   
“I hardly know what to say, Tulia.”  
Michelle sits across from me in a loose knitted dress and leggings, her booted ankles crossed beneath the glass table between us. She might be half way through but she’s hiding it pretty well, I get more of a belly from eating too much pasta.  
“Well I hardly know why I’m here, so we make a good pair,” I reply with a nervous smile. “I guess I called you because I want you to know there are no hard feelings. This is about you and Sebastian, I didn’t want you worrying that I was angry.”  
“That’s amazing, thank you. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me, no one would.”  
“Maybe, but you’re part of Seb’s life and you’ve been our friend for a long time. I know you and your motives, so if I come across upset please know that I’m devastated by the situation, not something you did.”  
“How are you doing?”  
I shrug. “Seb went back to work yesterday and I’m trying to find some work to take my mind off it.”  
“You two are going to be ok, right?”  
“I don’t know, it hurts and I don’t know how to make it stop.”  
We talk through two cups of coffee just like old friends catching up on each other’s lives, but I’m reminded every time she absently touches her belly or shifts in her seat so that the swell of her bump is more obvious. I was being honest, I’m not angry with Michelle or Sebastian. I’m sad because I want it to be me and there’s nothing I can do to make it better. Their child will always be his first and I don’t know if I’ll ever look at him or her without thinking ‘it should have been me’.

A week later I receive the good news that Patrick has plead guilty to the assault at the bar and had a further six months added to his sentence but it does nothing to ease my mind. The sadness is like a landslide, burying me beneath its mud until I slowly lose the will to fight. Adding to the despair is the knowledge that Sebastian and Michelle found out yesterday that the baby is a boy and he's seen a video of the ultrasound, and I know he's told Chris and Matt because Amelia and Amy have both called to offer a punching bag or a night out drinking. Their life as parents is moving forward and I want to be happy for them but I feel stuck on my own negativity, like a five year old refusing to move on from the toy she couldn't have for Christmas.

I spoke to Sebastian this morning but he's keeping his distance and I think he's waiting for me to erupt. I'm beginning to wonder if a good dose of furious screaming might release some tension when Anna finds me in the kitchen and hands me a piece of paper.  
“What's this?”  
“It’s a seat on a plane, yell at me if you want. You're going to Atlanta this afternoon and you're going to talk to your husband. Or just screw his brains out, I don't really care. You're driving yourself crazy and the heart of the matter is this – you can let it consume you or you can accept it and move on, but you have to do that with or without him. Considering you love each other and just got back together it seems to me the best you can make of the situation is to stand by Sebastian even though things aren't how they're supposed to be. Walk away if you want, but do it now and put the poor man out of his misery.”  
“It's not that simple.”  
“It is. Feel it, let it hurt, ride it out. You'll come out the other side. Also you're ovulating.”  
I scoff. “Like that matters now.”  
“So you're going to give up, just like that? The happy family isn't perfect from the outside so you’re just gonna lie down and admit defeat? “  
She's baiting me and we both know it. I hate it when she does this, mostly because it almost always works. “I hate you.”  
“Only when I'm right. Go pack or you'll miss your flight.”

 


	22. It's a ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my absent-ness with updates and replying to comments, my youngest had surgery and my eldest had a full re-assessment done (she has ASD) which means a whole lot of appointments and new therapists and implementing new stuff at home. Add in a sinus infection and a broken laptop for me and things have been a little chaotic in our house!   
> Hope you all like this chapter, I've added one more so the next one will be the last, then the epilogue (it's possible I'll just keep adding chapters so it doesn't have to end haha)

## Sebastian

“Oh, Sebby done fucked up good this time,” Chris says, clapping me on the back.   
“That's helpful, thanks,” I grumble back as he sits down on the couch beside me. “Michelle had a sonogram today.”  
I hand him my phone with one of the clearest pictures on the screen. “Awww. Wait, is that... is that a penis?”  
“Yeah, it's a boy.” I smile for the first time as the idea sinks in that I'm going to have a son.   
“Congratulations, buddy. How are you doing?”  
“Part of me is excited, the rest is devastated it's not Tulia. I dunno.”  
“You're allowed to be happy, Seb. It’s not ideal but it’s happening, you’re having a son.”  
“How can I be happy about it when it’s killing my wife? I’m losing her, I can feel it. After all we went through we were just getting things back on track and trying to get pregnant, this is going to be the last straw for her.”  
“I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit, Tulia’s not so easily defeated.”  
“No, but I can’t expect her to just be ok with this either. We talked yesterday and Michelle reminded me that she was prepared to do it on her own, maybe that’s how it has to be for now. Tulia has to come first.”  
“Yeesh. I don’t envy you. If you want to talk about it I’m here, though.”  
“Thanks. I don’t have to tell you to keep it to yourself.”  
“No, you don’t.”

As he closes the bathroom door I let my head fall back and rub my eyes, still stinging with sweat after our run. There’s a brick in the pit of my stomach that just won’t budge and carrying it around all day and night is wearing me down but I don’t know how to ease it because I don’t really know what I want. If by some miracle I could click my fingers and put things right I wouldn’t even know where to begin other than turning back the clock and working on my marriage instead of separating in the first place, but then I wouldn’t be expecting a son in a few months and I can’t bring myself to wish that away. I curl over and groan, threading my hands behind my head. I do need to talk to someone, but someone more objective and qualified than Chris, who clucks around the room every time I mention babies.

And so at some ridiculous hour of the night my therapist is listening to my concerns over the phone. At least I think she’s listening, she could well be dozing off in between and I’d never know, she has an unnerving knack of remaining silent until I talk myself to the bottom of the problem.   
“I can’t live without Tulia, I know now we’re meant to be together. I’m never going to be the main carer in the baby’s life and it’s not like Michelle is demanding I come to every appointment and pain the nursery. She’s got this. I can stay on the sidelines, right? Obviously I’ll provide whatever they need, but... It’s not like he’ll know I wasn’t around much in the beginning. I’ll be there for the important stuff and I have to be sure my marriage can handle it first. Keira? You still there?”  
“I’m still here,” she says. “Is there something you want me to say?”  
“I need to know it’s ok for me to do that. Be my moral compass and tell me it’s ok.”  
“You want me to tell you your son won’t resent you later for choosing your wife over him before he was born. For conceiving him while married to someone other than his mother and then letting her raise him alone while you work on your marriage and have more children.”  
“Not alone, I’ll always be there if she needs me.”  
“Will you? If Michelle calls in the middle of the night and he’s sick are you going to leave Tulia at home and go? What if you have other children, do they come first because they live with you? How long exactly are you going to give it, when will you know it’s ok to go and meet your son without worrying Tulia won’t handle it?”  
“I don’t think there’s one answer for that.”  
“There isn’t, you have to trust yourself to make the right call every time. You want me to tell you it’s ok to do what you think is right but I don’t have to live with your decisions. Can you?”  
“I think... yes.”  
“There’s your answer. It’s going to be hard, every step will feel like you’re walking on eggshells until you know what she can take. She has to talk to you, though. She has to be prepared to communicate with you and tell you how she feels, and you have to understand that sometimes you’ll upset her. There will be times you won’t be able to do what makes Tulia happy and you’ll have to stand your ground anyway.”  
“Why do I pay you to make me more confused, Keira?”  
I hear her laugh on the other end. “Because you want me to be responsible for your decisions and you couldn’t pay me enough for that.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yeah. You know what to do, keep your chin up and do it. If you’re going to fuck up do it with absolute confidence.”  
“Now that I can do just fine on my own. Thanks, Keira. I appreciate you talking to me so late.”  
“You’re welcome. How’s the filming?”  
“Long and brutal, I am covered it bruises. Going well, though.”  
“If you need anything else just call, ok?”  
“I will, thanks.”

Dawdling back to my trailer the next day I catch her in the corner of my eye, leaning against the side scrolling on her phone. I stop a few seconds just to watch the way she toys with a lock of hair; tucking it behind her ear and pulling it out, twirling it around her finger and tucking it back again. A small suitcase is parked at her sneakers, her curves casually clothed in faded skinny jeans and a long knitted cardigan. Occasionally she looks up from the screen but doesn’t lift her head until she feels my eyes on her, craning her elegant neck to find me striding toward her with my cold hands jammed into my pockets.   
“Hey, when I asked if we could talk I meant on the phone,” I say, kissing her strawberry-flavoured lips.   
“We can still talk on the phone if you want.” She smiles but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion in her pale puffy eyes.   
On the way back to the house Chris and I are sharing she informs me Anna didn’t give her a lot of choice about coming and my heart sinks a little but I intend to make her glad she did. As soon as we’re in the driveway Chris leaps out of the front seat to open the door.  
“I’ll be upstairs. With earplugs. Just... pretend I’m not here, unless you actually want me to not be here?”  
“Relax, Chris. This place is yours, I’m hardly going to kick you out.”  
He winks at me and bounds up the stairs, clicking his door closed behind him.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about priorities and what I can do to ease the pain I’ve caused you.”   
Sitting beside me on the couch with her legs folded beneath her Tulia reaches out for my hand and nods for me to continue.   
“You are my priority, Lu. I almost let you go and I will never let that happen again. I can’t just expect you to accept the baby and all of the associated emotions so I’m going to stay out of it for a while. Michelle only ever wanted me to know in case something happened, she didn’t expect I’d be involved at all. Obviously I will be one day, but for now my focus is on you and starting our family, for as long as you need me.”  
“Babe, I would never in a million years ask you to do that.”  
“I know you wouldn’t but I’m not going to put further strain on us if I can help it.”  
“Oh my sweet Sebs, your heart is in the right place but you’ve got it all wrong. That baby is a part of you and even if you wanted to you can’t just shut it out.”  
“I can’t lose you, Lu.”  
She shakes her head and starts to cry, covering her face with her hands. I pull her gently into my chest, holding her there for dear life and breathing in her perfume like it’s oxygen. Eventually she dries her eyes with a tissue and presses a hand against my chest. “I love you, Sebastian. All of you. Your strengths and your weaknesses, the little imperfections that make you my Seb. And I will love this part, too.”  
“I need you to talk to me, promise me. You have to tell me if something upsets you, even if I can’t do anything about it.”  
“I promise. As long as you don’t hold anything back to protect me. We’re in this together, we’ll do it together.” She scratches gently at the stubble on my jaw, that soft spot that makes me want to lie down at her feet and hang my tongue out like a dog, then kisses me with her plump lips. “How did the sonogram go?”  
“Uh...”  
“You literally just promised, Sebs. Tell me about it. Do you have a picture?”  
I find the video Michelle sent on my phone and hand it over, watching her fidget with her lip before laying her hand over her mouth and looking up at me with tears brimming in her eyes. “This is amazing.”  
“It's a boy,” I whisper, resting my hand on her leg.   
She nods and watches to the end, wide eyed and sniffling with her lips set in a hard line as though her face is trying to register every emotion at once, and then right before it stops she laughs through her tears. “Definitely a boy. Hung like his daddy.”

Later in bed our bodies tangle and undulate together, lips connecting with skin, tongues touching base before roaming to other domains, hands clutching and kneading either for pleasure or guidance, fingers lacing together with enraptured sighs. Strange, the rogue thoughts I sometimes catch that make me lose my rhythm – I used to count her orgasms to make sure she got enough. I don't recall exactly what 'enough' was, perhaps three or four, but somewhere between rough make-up sex and last chance quickies I stopped keeping score. Obviously I always make sure she gets one but for a woman who is like a wind-up toy once you get her going one or two just seem grossly insufficient. Maybe that's what I'm doing wrong, I wonder if there's any correlation between conception and female orgasm.

Evidently I've become distracted enough to stop altogether because she's pushed me onto my back and lowered herself onto my cock, sinking it deep inside with a satisfied moan. She bites her lip, sitting upright and rolling her hips back and forth, her thick chocolate hair falling around her face and her heavy breasts rising and falling with every thrust. I remain passive, watching her use my dick for her own pleasure, adjusting her angle until it rubs the right places and her head falls back. With just one thumb between us I find her engorged clit and she grinds harder against me until her moans echo off the ceiling and her hands squeeze and pinch at her own tits. She holds her breath and stills, the shudder of her pelvis the only visual indication of her climax. I feel it, though, her walls grip and release me in rhythmic waves and she leans forward as it washes over her, placing both hands flat on my chest and gulping lungfuls of air.

I push up onto my elbows and sit up to kiss her panting mouth, holding her body flush against mine and rocking us both gently as my tongue dances against hers. Within a few seconds she starts to move again, tiny shallow thrusts, and I guide her by the waist while looking deep into her dark eyes. It’s only a matter of time, her motions become almost frenzied and I take her nipple between my teeth, nipping gently and soothing it with my tongue over and over until she collapses against me. This time I don’t let her come down so quickly, pulling us both back down so I can hold her hips still and rut hard and fast up to her, slapping my balls against her ass until she cries out yet another peak. Intimate knowledge and endless experience with her body tells me that if I carry her through it she’ll just keep coming, so I flip her limp and exhausted onto her back and push back inside, hooking her ankles over my shoulders. Her head snaps back to exposer her long elegant neck and I force myself to hold a steady pace despite my body screaming for release. As her hips start to bounce against me and her hands fist the sheets I’m mesmerised by the movement of her tits and she thrusts herself against me, her eyes squeezed shut and lip bitten between her teeth until she releases it to cry out another climax and beg for a moment’s recovery.

With long deep thrusts I keep her moaning and quivering, kissing her tenderly, weaving my fingers into hers and holding her arms up above her head. My balls are painfully heavy, aching with every roll of my hips, and with a strangled groan I collapse into her and spill my entire worth as deep as I can. Tulia rakes her nails up and down my back, covering me in prickly goosebumps and satisfied shivers. When I release her mouth she kisses my neck and shoulder with a quiet chuckle, her lips curling into a smile against the curve of my throat.   
“Holy fuck, what brought that on?”  
“Nothing,” I say, rolling off onto the pillow. “I just love you.”  
“I love you too,” she says as she lays her head on my chest and her hair tickles my arm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I may not always be the most intuitive or observant man, but I know what it means when Tulia is curled up on the couch under a blanket with a block of chocolate. My heart sinks and I take my time closing the door to draw a deep, calming breath.  
“You ok, baby doll?”  
“Yeah,” she says quietly when I kiss her forehead. “Can you sit with me for a bit?”  
“Only if you share the chocolate.”  
She looks up like she’s contemplating suffocating me with the blanket instead, so I smile and raise my hands in surrender before sitting in the corner of the couch and opening my legs for her to cuddle into me. For a long time she’s silent while I rub her back and then she shifts around to look at me.   
“I’ve been seeing a counsellor while I’m here. Anna organised it.”  
So that’s what she’s been up to with all the secretive meetings, I knew it couldn’t be anything for work. “Has it helped?”  
“Yeah.” She sits up and takes my hands in hers, looking up at me with a hint of tears in her eyes “You’re having a son, Seb,” she says with a smile. “That’s huge. He deserves to be welcomed and loved, not resented or wished away, and you deserve to be happy about it without worrying about our marriage not surviving. It will, and we’ll be better for it.”  
My throat constricts and the sound that comes out is half laugh, half sob. “Wow.”  
“And I want us to keep trying. Maybe it will happen and maybe it won’t but I can handle it. God knows if we can get through all the other shit we’ve dealt with this year we can welcome a baby and have a lot of sex!”  
“We always were pretty fucking good at that.” I smile and hug her against my chest, breathing in her hair.   
“And on that note, I have to go home at the end of the week.”  
“Nope. I’m holding you hostage until you do that thing in my trailer again.”  
“Which one?”  
“The one where you waited for me in the trench coat and nothing else.”  
“As opposed to the one where I waited for you naked and scarred Scarlett for life?”  
“Well I didn’t actually see that, you were dressed by the time I got there.”  
She buries her face in my neck, laughing with embarrassment. Scarlett will never let me live that one down, or Tulia for that matter. As she tells it Scarlett came to borrow my phone to ring hers – because, as she does daily, she’d misplaced it – and found Tulia on the couch acting out one of my fantasies which involved her naked and touching herself, pretending to be oblivious to my presence. Scarlett got a little more than she bargained for and Tulia was so mortified it took four days of convincing for her to come visit me again. When she did she added a trench coat. It was awesome.   
“Seb!” She slaps my chest and I guess she was talking while I was replaying the afternoon.  
“Sorry, what? I was remembering.”  
“Chicken for dinner or fish? Why are you laughing?”  
I can’t tell her, she’ll hit me again.

 


	23. For all occasions

## Tulia

I much prefer location shoots than working in Los Angeles but I’m not in any position to be choosy at this point and in any case our beach house is a pretty perfect place to be in summer. I'm looking forward to Sebastian joining me in a couple of weeks, we've never shared this house for more than a couple of nights. As I pick up my keys I walk straight past the pile of work waiting for me on the table and out the door into the warm morning sun where the rental car is waiting for me. It's so rare that either of us drive ourselves, Sebastian usually has it all arranged when he's working and we don't even have a car in New York, but when I'm here I love to drive. It's one of those simple pleasures that would be totally wasted on me at home where the traffic is enough to cause an aneurysm.

As soon as I pull up in front of the cafe I can see my date waiting for me, scrolling through her phone and smoothing her hair over her shoulder. She stands as I approach and hugs me somewhat awkwardly thanks to the watermelon-sized bump between us.   
“You look fantastic, Michelle,” I say, holding her at arm's length. I'm not exaggerating, I know she's feeling huge and uncomfortable and just wants the baby out now but she really looks like it's no big deal.   
“Thanks. You look better,” she says with a chuckle.   
“How are you feeling?” I ask when she's seated.   
“Fat. Swollen. I'm wearing the only pair of shoes I can get my feet into and I can't do my own sandals up anymore. Yesterday I had a pedicure and I couldn't tell you whether they're actually the colour I asked for because I can't see my feet.” She laughs heartily. “Excited, though. Four weeks to go.”  
After months of therapy I'm almost at the point where I'm as excited for her as I'd like to be. Almost. I have no animosity toward her but there's a tiny television in the back of my brain playing one scene over and over where she gives birth and Sebastian confesses his love for her and proposes so they can be a family. Once I accepted that this was happening and promised to welcome it Michelle and I had a long talk about things and we've talked regularly since, meeting up for coffee every weekend since I've been in L.A. It would seem crazy to anyone on the outside I suppose, but she was a friend to both of us long before all of this happened. She even knows that we're trying to conceive and that it's not going so well, and she knows better than to bring it up first.   
“So Sebastian showed me the shortlist of names.”  
“Short is a good word for it. I gave him ten and he ruled out all but three! I'm glad he's not afraid to tell me what he thinks now, but come on. He could at least have suggested a few more to make up the difference.”  
“Oooh, I don't know if you want that. The names he was coming up with weren't very helpful. His unique ideas were coming dangerously close to Frank Zappa territory.”  
She laughs as the waitress sets our coffees down on the table. “How's work?”  
“It's picking up slowly, I think. The next few months are a bit busier.”  
“It makes me so fucking angry for you. He was convicted and had a well known reputation for doing the same to other women, but you're being punished.”  
I shrug. “Most people have been supportive it's just the culture I guess. Makes you wonder how many other assholes they're covering for, though.”  
“Yeah.” She grimaces and shifts in her seat. “This kid is going to be some sort of athletics champion, I'm sure. Maybe an acrobat.”  
“He is the son of two actors, maybe he'll be a stuntman.” I laugh.  
“I'm really happy we can do this, Tulia. I know it must be really hard on you,” she says sincerely.   
“I'm not the one who has to push a watermelon out my vagina, from where I'm sitting I got the easy part.”  
““I always knew you'd end up back together, you know. He was never going to let you go that easily.”  
She's told me previously she always felt like he was on loan, that she was borrowing him but his heart always belonged to me. I don't know if that's true but I know she wasn't surprised when he broke it off so we could work things out.

I drop her off at home before stopping for groceries and heading back home where Anna is waiting for me in a bikini, a towel slung around her waist and her hair dripping down her back.  
“How's the water?” I ask.  
“Perfect. You should go in.”  
“Maybe later. Are you staying for a while?”  
“No, Antonio will be here in a couple of hours.”  
“I almost forgot, you hadn't mentioned it in a whole two minutes. Take the car if you want, surprise him at the airport.”  
“I couldn't do that.”  
“Why? I don't need it, you'll just have to pick me up in the morning.”

In the end she takes it and practically skips out the door after putting her clothes back on, promising to pick me up on time with coffee before work tomorrow. I whip up an easy salmon and pasta for one and eat on the deck with the sound of the waves crashing onto the sand and a glass of wine, pondering a late night swim when Sebastian calls.   
“Hey,” he says over the clink of dishes in the sink. “What did you get up to today?”  
“I had coffee with Michelle, that's about it. She looks fantastic but I think she's getting a bit over it. One more sonogram next week to make sure he's pointed the right way and then it's a waiting game.”  
“Yeah she said she was getting sore and tired and ready to evict him.”  
“How was your day?”  
“Pretty boring. Gym and laundry. Sorted some events out with Victoria, she's sending you the dates. She thinks it might be good to be seen together a bit around the time the baby is born, present a united front and all that.”  
I hate the PR bullshit, always have. Attending premieres and galas was part and parcel of being with Sebastian and I always did it happily, it was fun to get dressed up and we usually had a great time, but this is different. Being photographed together when Michelle is about to give birth to avoid rumours that will happen anyway makes me feel kind of dirty, and not in a good way.  
“I'll be there,” I sigh. “I miss you, babe.”  
“I miss you too, Lu. Only one more week.”  
“Ok,” I say with a pout. “I'll just go swimming alone.”  
“In that itsy bitsy orange bikini?” he asks with a groan.  
“You know it.”  
“Damn.”

“Can we go out for dinner on Saturday?” Anna asks a few days later.   
“That depends, am I tagging along to translate? Because last time it got a little inappropriate.”  
“No.” She shakes her head sincerely. “Antonio's idea, and his English is getting better by the day. I can't say the same for my Italian but I'm working on it.”  
“Sure. Can you put it in my diary so I don't forget?”  
“Already did.” She laughs.   
We're packing up to go out for drinks with some of the cast and crew and it hasn't escaped my mind that this time last year I was doing the same. A lot has changed in that year and I've learned some hard lessons -- I'd like to say I'm no less open and trusting than I was then, and that I can go out and have a few drinks and a good time without feeling I have to watch out for other women, but I'd be lying.   
“Can you get that for me?” I call out from the bathroom when my phone rings. “It's probably Seb.”  
“Ah, nope. Not Seb,” I hear her say before she answers it. “Hi Michelle, this is Anna.”  
There's a short silence before she brings me the phone and she shrugs when I raise an eyebrow in question.  
“Hi Michelle,” I say while fastening a bracelet on my wrist.  
“Hi Tulia, I'm sorry... I didn't know who else to call.”  
“Is everything ok?”  
“Yeah, mostly. I had a scan today and they want me to stay a couple of days but I didn't bring my bag.”  
“I can bring it over, no problem. What's wrong, though?”  
“Nothing serious, they just want to monitor us for a bit. I'll call my neighbour and she'll let you in.”

When I arrive there's nothing immediately alarming except that her face is drawn and pale, her eyes faintly swollen and pink with dried tears.   
“What's going on, hon?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You can talk to me.”  
“There's a tangle in his umbilical cord. If he moves around and tightens it he could die.”  
My heart starts pounding in my throat. “Oh my god.”  
“They want to keep me here until he's born, keep monitoring movements just in case.”  
“Why not just induce you?”  
“It's too risky, if the cord is pulled tight it cuts off his oxygen. I'll be having a caesarian but they want him to grow a bit more and his lungs to develop as long as possible.”  
“I'm so sorry. You're in the best place, though.”  
“Yeah. I'm sorry I called you, my family aren't here and I didn't know – “  
“Hey,” I cut her off. “Of course you can call me. What else do you need? Do you want me to call Seb?”  
“No.” She shakes her head firmly. “I don't want him to panic and rush over here, he'll be here soon enough. You're all dressed up, were you going out?”  
“Just for drinks, nothing important.”  
“You should go.”  
“Nope. I'm staying with you for a bit, you shouldn't be on your own after news like that.”  
“Tulia...”  
“No arguments. Do you have something to read or shall I get you some magazines?”  
“I have some in my bag.”  
“Is there anything you needed to do in the next few weeks?”  
I'm a little concerned when she takes out a notepad and starts writing a list, but she really doesn't have anyone else to help so what else can I do?.

Not telling Seb would kill me if it were any longer than a few days, thankfully he's busy with wrap parties and farewells but I'm on edge all day Friday worrying about Michelle and the baby and Seb not making it for the birth, or there being complications and him being furious with me for not telling him sooner. I wouldn't blame him, either. I hate lying to him and I'm terrible at it. By the time Saturday dinner rolls around I am in desperate need of a drink or ten but I'm distracted from that as soon as the happy couple enter the restaurant. Anna is practically bursting out of her skin with excitement, so much so that I can't even get out 'What's going on?' before she jumps in.  
“We're getting married!” She holds up her left hand and wiggles her fingers, a huge diamond turning the overhead lights into dazzling rainbows.   
“Holy hell, woman, that is a ring,” I say as I'm standing out of my chair to hug her, both of us bouncing and squealing just loud enough for people to turn and stare. “Congratulations!”  
The rest of the evening is a blur of champagne and excited babbling about their plans for the wedding and how they'll split their time between here and Italy. For the most part Antonio is quiet, admiring his future wife as she plans out their lives in a language he doesn't entirely understand. The way he looks at her tells me all I need to know – he'll do whatever makes her happy.

When the phone wakes me at four-something on Monday I think I might still be hungover but I'm quickly sobered by the other voice, Michelle sounds terrified and shaky on the other end.   
“I'm going in to theatre in about an hour,” she chokes out. “He needs to come out now. I left a message for Sebastian, he must be already in the air.”  
“I'll be there as soon as I can, ok?”  
I hang up and my feet are on the floor before I've had a chance to think, stepping into jeans so quickly I have to take them back off when I realise I'm not wearing knickers. I've never been dressed and out the door so fast in my life, and the drive there is one of those where you remember leaving but aren't quite sure how you got there or if you might have run a few red lights. Everything after that continues in a fast forward blur, my brain is on autopilot because Michelle is freaking out and there's only space in the single hospital room for one crazy woman at a time.  
“He stopped moving. It's too early, he's too little.”  
“He'll be ok, he's had the steroids, right?” she nods weakly. “It will be ok. You're in the best hospital with the best baby doctors, hon.”  
“You're going in to theatre with her?” a midwife in teddy bear scrubs interjects.  
“Uh...”  
“No,” Michelle answers for me. “I'm kind of doing this solo.”  
“Ok then.” Teddy bear scrubs looks confused but moves on with a barrage of other questions while other people in less obvious outfits fuss over a monitor beside the bed.   
I watch Michelle struggle to answer, her hands fidgeting shakily with a thread on the edge of the cotton hospital blanket and her toes wiggling against the rail at the end. She might be in a swanky first-class maternity unit with the best doctors and the best tasting food, she might be an independent woman determined and prepared to do this on her own while Sebastian and I carry on with our married lives, but right now she's a friend and she's terrified of losing her unborn baby. Until now I never considered how hard this might be on her, having Seb so close but always coming home to me while she cares for their child around the clock. I'll never be convinced they didn't have feelings toward one another, we wouldn't be here if they didn't. And now she's having a baby on her own, with her family in another state and the only friend she felt comfortable calling – the wife of her child's father – not able to support her because it's awkward.

As soon as the midwife is done I move in to the side of the bed and squeeze Michelle's hand.  
“I'll be going in if that's ok?”  
“Lovely,” the midwife says, handing me a pair of folded blue scrubs. “Put these on.”  
“Tulia, you don't have to do this. I understand.”  
“I'm not letting you do this alone,” I say with far more confidence than I feel. “I'll be right back.”

That's when, in a tiny ensuite bathroom with rails everywhere, it all comes to a grinding, screeching, panic-inducing halt. The stainless steel railing is cold in my clammy hand and I cling to it until my knuckles turn white as I lean over the toilet and bile burns my throat. I'm trying to be quiet, be strong and silent even while my stomach turns inside out and my lungs burn for air. Everything swims and spins and the weight of the situation forces me back against the tiled wall.  
 _I can't do this. I don't know why I offered but I have to take it back, I can't be in that room.  
_ I pull it together enough to splash water on my face, my own green-tinged reflection seems to be scowling back through the mirror. So many emotions overwhelm me that although I recognise the anger and envy and sadness I feel completely numb. And somehow the act of undressing and putting on the baggy cotton scrubs seems to be what I need to focus and push through it, before I realise what's happening I have a cap fastened over my hair and paper booties covering my shoes.

Michelle shoots me a sympathetic frown when I emerge but there isn't time for anything else before we're whisked into an operating room and she's squeezing my hands while a rather large needle is delicately positioned in her spine. In those first frantic, hurry-up-and-wait minutes I lose count of how many times and ways she thanks me while I keep my eyes on her side of the curtain, listening to the doctor and assistants prepare her abdomen to be converted to a sunroof for her son.   
“A bit of pressure now, Michelle,” Teddy bear scrubs says, leaning over the curtain.   
Michelle nods and gratefully takes the hand I offer her, squeezing and wincing as she's pushed and pulled at so much I can see her moving on the table. Anyone who says a caesarian is the more refined way to give birth has never experienced one, the movement and squishy sound combined with the smell of cauterised flesh is enough to make my stomach flip all over again. I catch a muffled 'there he is' from the other side and hold my breath, not knowing exactly what I'm waiting for.   
A newborn scream pierces the silence and I look down at the tears welling in Michelle's eyes. “Guess those steroids worked.”  
She smiles and gives a quick peck on the cheek of the squealing bundle held in front of her, all wrapped up in a blue and yellow blanket like a kebab and loudly voicing his dissatisfaction at being so suddenly evicted from his warm home.   
“Is he ok?” she asks me while they're checking him over under a heat lamp.   
“Of course,” I reassure her, as if I'd know. “He's perfect.”

I can only assume everyone cries after witnessing something as brutal and beautiful as the birth of a child, at least I hope they do because I'm sitting in Michelle's room blubbering to myself when they wheel in a bassinette a little while later. It's only when I hear a squeak that I realise there's a baby inside, we were under the impression he was going straight to the nursery for oxygen. After drying my eyes I see it's teddy bear scrubs again, only now I've stopped for a few seconds I see her name is Fiona.   
“You can hold him if you like,” she says. “He's a perfectly healthy 5 pounds and 4 ounces, breathing on his own. Michelle will be back in an hour or so, I can leave him with you or take him.”  
I hesitate. She's looking at me like I'm some kind of ovary-less mutant because I don't want to hold a baby. “Shouldn't Michelle be the first to hold him?”  
“She has, darl. But she needs to rest right now while the spinal wears off.”  
“Oh. I'm happy to watch him, then.”  
“He'll likely sleep the whole time, anyway. Just press the buzzer if you need help.”  
Of course he starts to whimper as soon as she leaves the room. I stand and peer inside at the wiggling blanket, his little body barely taking up half of the newborn-sized bassinet. If I squint I think I could see a bit of Sebastian's nose when he frowns and he already has his abundant dark hair. I slide one hand beneath him and then swap it for the other, afraid to pick him up the wrong way. I've never handled a newborn before and I feel like he's so tiny and fragile that one false move with a finger might do him permanent damage. Eventually I get him cradled in my arms and sit back down where he promptly lies still and falls back to sleep. With each of his tiny snuffling breaths the tension in my shoulders eases just a little until I actually begin to enjoy having his warmth in my arms and when he starts to wriggle I instinctively hold him closer, stroking the hand that pokes out of the tightly wrapped blanket. His surprisingly long pink fingers close around my thumb and a smile I can't help spreads across my face, my tired puffy eyes welling with fresh tears.

Amidst the bustle of the hall I don't notice the figure in the doorway until a familiar scent hits my nostrils and I hear him sniff.   
“Well this is not what I expected,” Sebastian says softly as he crosses the room.   
“You're a daddy, babe. Congratulations.”  
He kisses me before I hand the baby over and initially he looks as awkward as I felt, like he's made of glass. “Oh god, he's so small.”  
“But perfect, all checked out and healthy. Michelle will be down soon.”  
“How did she handle it?”  
“She was amazing. They found a knot in the cord during her last scan and then last night he wasn't moving around like usual so she went straight to theatre this morning.”  
“Why didn't you tell me?”  
“She asked me not to, you couldn't have got here any sooner. You can be mad at me later.”  
We hear voices behind us and turn to see Michelle being brought in on her bed.   
“I see you've been introduced,” she says to Sebastian. “We have to settle on a name now.”  
“Your choice,” he replies, watching his son's hand open and close around his ring finger.   
“Lachlan.”  
“Lachlan Zane. I like it.”  
Michelle shakes her head. “Stan. He should have your last name. I was thinking we could use Zane as his middle name.”  
“Are you sure? I just assumed he'd have your name.”  
“Positive.”  
“Hi little Lachlan,” I say, smoothing a hand over the downy dark hair covering his head. “I'm going to let you get settled,” I say to Michelle.  
She reaches out and pulls me into a hug. “I can't thank you enough for what you did for us today. Please don't feel like you have to go if you don't want to.”  
“It's fine, I have work to do anyway. I'll see you soon.”  
Seb hands Lachlan over to Michelle to walk me out. “Lu, I don't even... I can't begin to think of the right words. I love you so much.”  
“Those will do.” I smile and kiss him. “Call me if you want me to pick you up otherwise I'll see you at home. Take your time, ok?”  
“How about you come and get me when you're done working.”  
“All right.”

On the way to the studios I stop for a quiet cafe breakfast, finding myself a hidden corner table where I can sit a while and ponder what on earth happened this morning. Two coffees and an embarrassingly large stack of pancakes in a sea of maple syrup later I'm off to work, the rest of the universe carry on as usual, completely oblivious to the wondrous events in my little corner.

Anna just kind of stares at me as though I've just told her the earth is flat.   
“What... how... oh my god! That must have been weird.”  
“But incredible. And the look on Sebastian's face when he held him for the first time... I'm glad I didn't miss that.”  
“Jeez, I thought I had a productive morning with two orgasms but you and Michelle have just blown that out of the water.”  
I almost spit a mouthful of my third coffee all over her clean white shirt. “Thanks for that visual.”  
“You sure you're ok to work, I can cover for a day. I learned from the best.”  
“I am for now, we'll see how quickly I go downhill this afternoon.”  
As it turns out it's more of a slow but undignified descent into total exhaustion but I manage to finish the day so Anna can drive me back to the hospital, thus making sure I don't fall asleep and kill someone on the way.

I don't want to go in, though. That little television is playing its film of impending doom over and over again and I half expect to walk in on some intimate scene between the two of them. It takes every last bit of the oily rag I'm running on to make my feet move, to push the button on the lift, to turn the corner toward Michelle's room and open the door.   
Intimate this is not.  
Lachlan is screaming his tiny lungs out on the end of the bed while Sebastian dabs between his legs with a wet wipe, his face scrunched so far it might actually turn inside out. Michelle is barely stifling a laugh.   
“He does not like having his diaper changed,” she says with a hand over her mouth, obviously trying to let Sebastian take care of it by himself.   
“I wouldn't like a cold wipe on my junk, either!” he retorts as he finishes up and starts fastening the clean one on. “This is the second poop in ten minutes, I don't understand how so much crap can come from something so small.”  
“How are you feeling?” I ask Michelle.  
“I've got the good drugs,” she says with a slightly dopey smile. “The midwives are going to take care of him over night so I can sleep, they'll just bring him in for feeds.”  
“Can I get you anything?”  
“Nah, I'm all good.”   
She starts thanking me over and over again and I'm so busy dismissing her I miss what's happening behind me until she points my attention over to Seb in the chair under the window. He's leaned back with Lachlan lying lengthways down his chest, rubbing the heel of his huge hand in gentle circles on the baby's back and singing so softly I can barely make out the melody.   
My heart doesn't know whether to burst with love or just break in two.

The silent evening at home isn’t so much mismatched emotions as it is complete overwhelm at the events of the last 24 hours. We’d both expected Michelle to call when she was in labour and Sebastian would meet her at the hospital when she was close to the end while I mostly stayed out of it, and while I wouldn’t change the fact that I was present for the birth and could be there for Michelle, or seeing Sebastian meet his son for the first time, I just wasn’t prepared for the barrage of feelings that have come with it. I try to keep a lid on it but once I’ve got comfortable in a tank top and shorts and curled up in Seb’s lap on the couch there’s a tidal wave of tears that I feel will never stop. He holds me tight enough to squeeze the air from my lungs and sniffles against my hair but neither of us speak; there’s nothing that can be said with words.

According to my new best friend (or enemy, depending on the day) a fertility tracker, all of the signs point to us having a prime chance at conceiving today, but it’s the last thing I feel like and Sebastian knows better than to instigate anything when I’m this emotional. Long after he’s asleep I open the balcony doors to let the salt air and rhythm of crashing waves into the bedroom in the hope it might soothe me to sleep as I lay my head back on his chest and guide his arms around me.  
“I love you, Lu. Good stuff is coming for us, I promise.”  
One thing Sebastian has always had enough of for the both of us: optimism.

 


	24. Christmas past, Christmas present

## Sebastian (5 months later)

My darling wife is loaded up to her pretty brown eyeballs with synthetic hormones and a list of other stuff as long as my arm and it's making her a little unstable. You know all the little rumbles California keeps getting while we wait for 'the big one' where the earth will finally succumb to the strain? Kind of like that, only the rumbles can be anything from fits of delirious giggles to bursts of rage over a toilet roll being hung the wrong way. God help us if she goes full earthquake.

The fun way of making babies went out the window around the time Lachlan was born five months ago, when the mental and physical health risks became too much and we decided to explore other avenues. I'll admit to being drawn into the idea of having more control with IVF; we already know the eggs are fertilised and they've been deposited in there with pinpoint accuracy. The only swimming my little guys had to do was round in circles inside a little cup – no power on this earth will convince me to re-tell that story and Tulia has been sworn to secrecy on the threat of burning her Bucky t-shirt – and as I understand it her eggs were extracted fresh from the source so there's very little room for error considering there doesn't seem to be any reason we can't get pregnant by ourselves. Now she just has to keep taking the pills and wait. So far it's been the longest five days of my life, and we have at least three more to go.

Factoring all of that in, was this weekend a good time to have Lachlan overnight for the first time? Probably not. I feel like we've orchestrated the perfect storm and we're just waiting for the destruction to begin. A couple of months ago Michelle made a decision I am eternally grateful for; she's moving to New York. Her family are here and she's taking some time away from work, so the big move is happening this weekend and we're taking him while she gets unpacked.   
“Lu? Where are you?” I ask from the kitchen.   
“In here,” she calls back.   
I follow her voice down the hall and stop in the doorway. This rooms looks a little different now, in fact it shows little evidence of its former life as a guest room. The walls are a soothing blue-grey, a mobile of clouds and stars is suspended from the ceiling above an oval cot with blue and yellow linen. Tulia is sitting in a rocking chair beneath the window, the sheer curtains dancing in the breeze through the crack of the window as she rocks thoughtfully.   
“I'm not sure about the temperature in here,” she says, biting her lip.  
“It's the same as everywhere else, feels fine to me.”  
“You're not a baby!” she snaps. “We need to make sure he's warm enough but it's a SIDS risk if he overheats. What if the blankets are too warm?”  
“Babe, we've been over this.” I kneel in front of her and wait for her to look at me. “It will be fine. We'll work it out, he's not going to overheat. Take a breath.”  
“I don't have maternal instinct like she does.”  
“You do, you just don't know it. Lachlan loves you.”  
“He's a baby, Seb. He loves anything with boobs.”  
“Speaking of boobs...” I run my hands down her sides but she grabs them before I can go back up.  
“If you so much as disturb the air around them I will cut your hands off.”  
“Still sore, huh?”  
“I think my body is rejecting them.”  
I try not to laugh because it generally gets my head bitten off but I can't help it this time, and to my relief she smiles back at me.  
“I'm sorry your wife has been possessed by a megabitch demon.”  
“An obsessive megabitch demon,” I correct her. “But a loveable one. You've done this perfectly, Lu. Stop worrying. He loves you, he'll love the nursery, and we'll return him in one piece. I promise.”

She spends most of the week reading up and talking to Michelle, making sure everything is just so for when he arrives. I could stop her obsessing, and theoretically I probably should since I know it's not all that healthy, but it's a distraction from the other stuff and it seems to be working. Lying in bed on Saturday morning I'm quite enjoying a late sleep-in when she leaps out of bed and practically runs for the bathroom.   
“You ok?” I call after her.  
“Yep, just busting!”  
I shake my head, turn over and close my eyes again. I'm just starting to wonder what's taking her so long when she appears in the doorway with the expression I might expect if she'd gone out and got a puppy without telling me.   
“What's going on there, baby doll?”  
“Nothing.”  
She glides toward me with her hands behind her back, I'm almost waiting to hear a little bark. When she gets back under the covers she doesn't lie down like I was hoping, though, she sits up with her legs folded while I give her a questioning look. And then she spills out what's in her hand – a whole lot of test strips.  
“Tulia, did you just pee on those?”  
“Yes,” she says sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn't... do you want me to get a baggy or something?”  
“No, but I'd like you to tell me what's going on because the doctor told you specifically not to do this. Twice, if I remember correctly.”  
“I know, but I had them in the drawer. Seb, they're all positive. Every single one.”  
“Can't the hormones give a false reading, though?”  
“Only false negative. You don't get false positives.”  
“All of them? Wait, so are you... are we...?” I can't say it, I feel like the weight of the word will make the whole illusion shatter.  
“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I am and we are.”  
I'm not sure how but I've gone from lying down to kneeling in a split second, holding her face in both hands while I pepper it with kisses. “Oh my god,” I repeat over and over as I pull her back down with me. She lays herself flat on top of me and kisses me hard but I feel her lip trembling and pull back.  
“Are you ok?”  
She nods frantically and smiles through the tears that spill onto her cheeks. I roll her off onto the pillow and turn to face her, stroking her face with light fingertips.   
“I love you so much, Lu.”  
Her hand trails down my jaw and neck, making a line down the centre of my chest as she bites her lip. “I love you, too.”  
Draping one naked leg over my hips she looks up at me and I'm already fully erect, I feel like we haven't had sex in months and when we did it wasn't so much for fun as perfectly timed and orchestrated. She takes my hand and guides it under her t-shirt to her breast, trusting me to be gentle with the painful swelling. I sweep the shirt over her head and drink her in with my eyes before lowering my mouth to her neck, licking and sucking downward to kiss each of her nipples in turn and then blowing cool air over both until they strain upward. I continue lower and kiss a wide circle around her navel, revelling in the idea that there might be a baby in there.

Tulia beams down at me and combs her fingers through my hair. “I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much,” she says with a sniffle.   
“Me too, I don't want you to be disappointed.”  
I can distract her for a little while at least. I toss the covers off and guide her legs apart to lie between them, biting playfully at her inner thigh while my fingertips explore her folds. She moans and bites her lip, watching me with lidded eyes as I lean in and taste her tangy nectar and lick my lips. I slide my tongue inside, gathering drops of her cream to spread up and around her swollen bud while I suck it gently between my lips. Her eyes roll back when I flutter over it with my tongue for a few beats before dipping back inside her again and she opens wider so that her sex is completely exposed and glistening with moisture. I know she wants my fingers, how she loves when I give her two – sometimes three – deep within or rubbing over her g-spot, but I'm not letting her have them. Instead I take my time caressing every inch and fold of her cunt with my lips and tongue, driving her toward insanity until she pleads for mercy.  
“Please, babe,” she begs with a hoarse voice. “Oh fuck... god... please.”  
I secretly love it when she curses, I guess it's something to do with the accent. Laying my tongue flat against her clit I nod my head slowly while looking up at her and she bucks her hips against me until I feel her juices spill onto my chin, forced out with the violent contractions of her pussy. She stills and holds me frozen between her shaking thighs, I wait until she starts to relax to lap at the essence still oozing from her entrance, gulping it down eagerly and wiping my face with the back of my hand.  
“Jesus fucking christ you're good at that,” she says between panting breaths while I slide back up the bed to lie beside her.  
“At what?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. She knows what I want, whether she'll give it to me depends on her mood. Generally if she's fuming or deliriously happy she'll let me have it and I much prefer to hear it in the latter instance than have it thrown at me in rage.  
“Eating...” She leans in and kisses me, moaning at the taste of herself that still lingers on my lips. “My...” Now she raises up and straddles me, kissing my collarbone and making a line upward with her tongue to that delicious spot behind my ear that turns me to pudding. “Cunt,” she whispers, her breath and lips brushing the shell of my ear.  
“Yeah, baby doll,” I say with a shudder of pleasure as goosebumps cover my body.

Tulia rolls her hips over me, coating my cock and balls in the creamy fluid that clings to her folds. When I can't take any more I grip her hips hard and raise her up, spearing my shaft inside and pulling her down onto it until she cries out. I push her upward until she squeals and giggles and lower my hips back to the bed, sitting up so our bodies are flush together and I can feel her heart pounding in my chest as she rides me slowly back and forth. My hands roam over her ribs, down to the curve of her hips and the firm flesh of her ass, back up to the swell of her breast, relishing the sharp hiss of breath when I graze her nipple with my thumb. I hold off and distract myself by exploring and teasing her body as long as I can but I can feel the tug of impending orgasm when she tips her head back and moans toward the ceiling, her walls gripping my aching cock. She must sense it too, because she slithers a hand between us to strum gently at her clit, gasping for breath and clawing at the back of my neck as she reaches her peak and contract around me, the spasming waves tipping me over the edge with a series of strained grunts into her chest.

In the bliss of afterglow I lay beside her and doodle all over her stomach with my finger, making hearts and swirls in the smooth expanse below her belly button.   
“Whether it happens now or not, you're going to be an amazing mom,” I say. “You already are to Lachlan.”  
“I hope so,” she says, laying her hand over mine. “Let's just get through this weekend first.”  
“Speaking of which we should probably get out of bed, they'll be here in a couple of hours.”  
“Yeah. It's mum, Seb.”  
“That's what I said.”  
“No, you said _mom._ I'm no Yank and I ain't nobody's _mom._ Say mum.”  
“Mmmaaaahhhhmmm,” I tease, drawing it out like an old British butler. “Better?”  
“You're getting there.” She laughs.

I never imagined how having a baby in our apartment would change the entire atmosphere. He's been to the beach house and we've taken him out for the day a few times but it's always been in Los Angeles, this is his first time here, where we call home. After introducing mom and dad to their first grandchild we’ve spent the afternoon at home exploring some new toys, his favourite by far being a Fisher Price piano that sings like something between a cat and a pig. His babbles and laughter fill every space and corner, and like someone seeing in colour for the first time I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the quiet again. Michelle has always been amazing at letting us know his routine and likes or dislikes without being overbearing and although I know she’s anxious being away from him she never allows that to turn affect her decisions. She trusts both of us to care for him just as well as she does. Which I appreciate, but my first attempt at dinner is making me question that faith.  
“Ahhh, it’s Red Skull in his Hydra plane. Quick giant baby, open up! Eat him!” I do my best plane impression and zoom the spoon toward his open mouth, where it promptly ends up closer to his cheek as he reaches for the spoon. Tulia laughs from the doorway behind me.  
“Daddy’s not very good at this, is he Lachie?”   
“Oh ha ha, maybe it’s your cooking that’s the problem.”  
“It’s just mashed sweet potato and avocado, I’m not sure I’d want to eat it either.”  
“We’d be fine if he didn’t try to steal the spoon.”  
He reaches out for it and erupts into giggles when I snatch it away. While I’m occupied playing ‘hide the spoon’ Tulia produces a second one and dips it in the bowl before handing it to him. The food ends up on his forehead but he lets me feed him the remaining dinner at least.

I stand under the shower with him and he holds his hand out, giggling when the warm water sprays into his palm. I’ll admit to worrying about how slippery he’d be but he curls himself up against my chest and relaxes into me while his back warms under the stream, occasionally looking up at me with sleepy eyes.  
“I think it’s bedtime, little buddy,” I say as I shut off the water. Tulia has laid a warmed fluffy towel out on the bench for him and wraps him up while I dry myself and get dressed, singing quietly to him while she pats him dry. I can not describe how it feels to watch her connect with him and I think it’s only increased because he’s not biologically her child, but she treats him and loves him like he is. Sometimes I see it, though – that little seed of doubt that makes her pull back.  
“Here, you take over and I’ll get his bottle,” she says, keeping a hand on his chest and handing me a fluffy onesie.   
“You sure, I don’t mind getting the bottle.”  
“I’m sure.”

When she returns a few minutes later we’re closing the curtains in the bedroom and switching on the night light that makes ocean-like waves on the ceiling. Tulia hands me the bottle and kisses Lachlan on the top of his forehead, just beneath his thick dark hair.  
“Sweet dreams, Lachie,” she says softly, standing on tip toes to kiss my cheek.  
And then she leaves, and it hits me that I’ve never put a baby to bed before. Sure, he’s fallen asleep in the pram while we were out, but putting him down for the night is completely foreign to me. What if I cough or sneeze and wake him up? What if he cries and I don’t hear him?   
“Ah... hah!” his yell snaps me out of my own head and when I look down he’s reaching desperately toward the bottle in my hand.  
“Oh, you want this?” I wave it in the air and his mouth breaks open into a smile, showing his tiny bottom teeth.   
Seating myself in the rocking chair I drape a knitted blanket over him and tip the bottle for him to take it in his mouth where he immediately makes those angelic little sighs of content, his eyes becoming heavier with every second.   
“I think we’re gonna be ok, buddy.”

That night when I turn over in bed looking for Tulia I find her side of the bed empty, and then I spot her on the baby monitor, rocking slowly back and forth with Lachlan in her arms beneath the blanket.  
“Everything ok?” I ask, still wiping sleep from my eyes in the doorway to his room.   
“Yeah, he went back to sleep half an hour ago. I just don’t want to move.”  
“Sorry, babe. I didn’t even hear him.”  
“I know, I was awake. I got up so he wouldn’t wake you. He’s just so beautiful and snuggly, he just grabbed two fistfuls of my shirt, cuddled into me and went back to sleep.”  
We both watch him sleep for a while and then I see her eyes start to droop. “Here, let me put him to bed. You need to sleep.”  
She pouts but lets me take him from her arms and move him to the cot while she shuffles back to the bedroom.

My mom always told me you don’t have a choice in loving your own children, but it takes someone special to love someone else’s as if they were their own. She said she couldn’t love my stepdad until she saw that special something in him, the way he saw me and loved me unconditionally as though I were his from birth. And once her frustration with me had faded when I broke the news to her about Michelle being pregnant – she used words in both English and Romanian that I’ve never heard from my mother – she assured me that Tulia would be the same. If I wasn’t entirely sure at the time I believe it with my whole heart now, she loves that little boy as much as I do.

The following day we head out with him rugged up in the pram, which will no doubt stir up a bit of gossip but it won’t be anything Victoria can’t handle. The streets are packed with people wearing thousands of layers and grumbling about the cold while getting in their last minute Christmas shopping, the sound of carols floating out of the shop doors as they open to admit more people or spit others back out into the New York freeze. To people in our neighbourhood I’m just another piece of the furniture and they don’t take much notice but I do see a few extra stares and glances in Tulia’s direction, probably wondering when she had a baby unnoticed. Along the way we stop for coffee and a few pastries to take along to Matt and Amy and I notice Tulia standing unusually close to the side of the pram while Lachlan toys with her fingers.   
“What’s up? You worried he’ll catch a cold?” I ask, holding her other hand.   
“No, just spotted a couple of cameras across the street. I’m blocking their shot.”  
“I love you,” I say, leaning in to kiss her frozen lips.   
“I know.”  
It took me a few days to convince Victoria that I should just talk about it openly rather than refuse any questions relating to Michelle or Lachlan, but in the end I won. He was only a few weeks old when Michelle and I posted the first photos on Instagram and explained the situation and honestly I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the general reaction. There’s been the odd ‘Sebastian fathers child then walks out’ garbage but mostly we’ve come out through it unscathed. Not that I ever really cared for the Daily Mail’s opinion on, well... anything really.

It’s late in the afternoon when we return him to Michelle not only in one piece but happily babbling away. Her new place is only a few blocks from ours and I can’t wait to spend more time with him now that I don’t have to fly across the country to do it.  
“When you’re home,” Tulia reminds me in bed that night.   
“Well yeah, but I’m hoping there will be a little more of that the next few years.”  
“He could always just visit me. Is that weird?”  
“No, Michelle wouldn’t mind.”  
She stares thoughtfully at the window and I know what she’s thinking about; the blood test tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon she’s fairly sure the result will come back positive (she did a couple more tests this morning ‘just to be sure’) and although I’m trying not to get my hopes up I can hardly stop thinking about it. I’m imagining how our first Christmas with Lachlan will be, how different everything will be from the beautiful disaster of last year, and how much more it would mean if she was to fall pregnant right before. We could announce it to our families, even her mom is coming over to spend a week with us.

“Sebs?” she whispers a couple of hours later.  
“Mm?”  
“You still awake?”  
“Yep.”  
She turns over to face me. “I can’t sleep.”  
“Me either.” I reach out and run my hand down her thigh, pulling her toward me. “Maybe I can help.”

I watch Tulia's foot bounce on the laminate floor, her leg jittering as though the coffee in her hand isn't her first for the day. It is, though, and she yawns before taking a sip and then smiling at me when I squeeze her hand. First thing this morning she had her blood taken and then the obstetrician sent us over to see her hematologist while we wait. I still don't know if that's a good thing or not.   
“Good morning,” she says, ushering us both into her office. “I just wanted to check in and see how things are going, I've been looking over your notes from the IVF clinic. We ordered some clotting tests with your bloods this morning so that if you are pregnant we have some baseline numbers.”  
She goes on to explain the monitoring Tulia will need, the risks she's facing for the next few months and around her due date, the risks for the baby if he or she carries the same complication. By the time we're released to go and get the results from the OB there's anxiety bubbling away in the pit of my stomach, threatening to overwhelm the excitement we came in with.

It's soon shoved away when I hear those words, though.  
“Congratulations, you're pregnant.”

 


	25. The big picture - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end. I have so enjoyed writing this and I want to thank you all again for the beautiful comments and kudos xx  
> This was my first Sebastian Stan fanfic but I doubt it will be my last!  
> When I first started writing I did it for me (and I still do), my first fic on Wattpad sat with not one read or vote for months and although I wasn't bothered I literally danced around the house when I got that first little star. Let me tell you I still do that. I love when you write me a novel and speculate about what's coming next (even if you beat me to the punch haha), I love it when you abuse me for torturing my characters. Sometimes you bring tears to my eyes with beautiful words or cackling laughter with a demand to slap one of them, but I promise every single one is treasured, whether its one word, a frustrated keyboard-fist or a well-worded page worth. I truly appreciate you taking the time to comment.

## Tulia

Sebastian's keys rattle in the door as I move a basket of folded laundry piece by piece into the wardrobe of the nursery. Wobbly, syncopated footsteps slap on the floor just outside the door as he opens the door and I move out to greet him.  
“Anybody home?” he calls.  
His reply comes in a series of giggles and a string of “dadadadada.”  
“There's one of my girls! Look at you, walking all over the place!” He looks up and spots me leaning against the doorway as he sweeps his daughter onto his hip. “I'm sorry, Lu. We got delayed and my phone died after the last message.”  
“It's ok,” I say, nestling into his other arm. “I knew you'd be here as soon as you could.”  
“How have they been?”  
“Good, this one has definitely mastered the walking.”  
“I'm so disappointed I missed it.”  
“Only by a few days, and you have the video.”  
“I'm done until March, now. Family time.”  
“Good, because it turns out you can't Christmas shop with two babies and stay sane.”  
“You go tomorrow, I'll look after them. Speaking of them, where's the other one?”  
“Napping in the swing, and if you wake him up I will cut your balls off with a butter knife.”  
“Still not sleeping, huh?”  
“Nope. Good thing he got his daddy's charm.”

When Mihaela was born she was every bit the blessing we'd hoped for. Despite my constant monitoring for complications I went into labour without any intervention – unless you count sex, we spent my due date in bed and Sebastian was determined not to stop until I started contracting – and her delivery was straight forward. There was none of the haemorrhaging I was prepared for, no drugs, just an intimate water birth by candlelight. At times I almost forgot we were in a hospital. We were home a few days later and she took to routine like a fish to water, feeding and sleeping so well I didn't dare talk about it for fear I'd either jinx it or be beaten to death with another mother's pram. Now at 15 months she's toddling everywhere, getting into everything she shouldn't and generally being a happy little soul that brightens every day. Sebastian dotes on his little girl and comes home as often as he can, making sure we have time with now 2 year old Lachlan as well. Mihaela has been Lachlan's little shadow since she first began propelling herself forward with her tiny toes, following her favourite little person everywhere he goes. Lachie is a very proud big brother and will get to perform that duty even more in a few months when Michelle and her new husband welcome another sibling for him.

Mihaela's name was chosen the instant Sebastian said it, the way only a native romantic-language-speaker can, and I was immediately in love with it. While I was registering her birth I realised I was the only one without Sebastian's name now, and for the first time it didn't feel right. I fought it for a while when we were first married, as though I was holding on to the last of my independent womanhood by keeping my maiden surname, but I guess I have things a little more in perspective now. That was the day I came home with two certificates as a surprise for Seb – a registration of birth for Mihaela Abrielle Stan and a change of name for Tulia Noemi Stan. He always said it didn't bother him that I didn't take his name but there were definite tears that afternoon.

This time last year we were preparing for an exciting Christmas, with Mihaela being just shy of three months old but Lachlan at 18 months getting into the toddler version of festivities right down to being terrified of Santa. Even with a champion sleeper I was exhausted with feeding twice each night and I'd felt 'off' for a few weeks when I went to the doctor to be checked over. I went straight for the haemotologist because symptoms like I was experiencing usually meant I was due for a transfusion, even though my period was yet to return and I hadn't had any bleeding. She ran full bloods 'just to be thorough' and called me back to her office the following week.  
“Tulia, you're pregnant.”  
I laughed. “That's not even possible. I only just had Mihaela and we can't fall pregnant on our own.”  
“Apparently you can, because you are. By all means have your OB confirm it.”  
“Shit. Oh, shit.”  
I think that was all I said for the next hour, all the way home. And just as I was about to tell Sebastian it dawned on me I'd have two children under one year old, so instead I thrust the pathology and sonogram forms at him and sobbed into his chest.

Cristian Campbell (another name chosen by Sebastian when we found out he was a boy) is no less wanted or loved than Mihaela, but I think even though he's here and three months old we're still recovering from the shock. He couldn't wait until his due date, instead deciding he was ready for his grand entrance a full month ahead of schedule. We joke that he didn't want his birthday to be the same month as his sister, but either way I'm constantly on edge waiting for his next surprise. I always try not to compare them but he has the opposite of Mihaela's sleeping habits and likes to be awake and watching the world at every possible opportunity, whether it's the middle of the day or 2am. He is just as much a delight, though, and although their ages and Sebastian's schedule have been a sometimes overwhelming challenge we're all doing ok so far.

I hear Sebastian set his bag down and toe off his shoes, and then the unmistakeable sound of a crying infant who's been woken long before he was ready. By the time I get to the bedroom Cristian has his head resting on Seb's shoulder, his little body supported by one of Seb's huge hands while the other defensively cups his own crotch.  
“Sorry,” he whispers.   
I shake my head and smile. “He just couldn't wait to see his daddy.”  
When Seb turns I can see Cristian is already sleeping again. His mouth is open, one chubby little cheek smooshed against daddy's shoulder, his expression and limbs soft and heavy with sleep. He always has slept better for Sebastian than anyone else.   
“I think I might as well just hold him until he wakes up,” he says quietly, sitting down on the couch. “Have you thought any more about the Nanny idea?”  
He called me in the middle of one of 'those' days last week and when I ended up in tears on the phone he asked again if I wanted some help, if I wanted to go back to work. At first I hated it and felt like I'd failed if I couldn't care for my own children when I was at home all day every day but the idea has grown on me and although it's the first time I've seriously considered it, it's far from the first time Sebastian has offered.   
“I'm thinking about it. Maybe just a little help and I could do some work from home.”  
He knows how painful it is for me to admit I need help but I can see the immediate relief in his eyes. “No one would say having two under two was easy, Lu. You're doing amazing and I'm not here as often as I'd like to be. Accepting help isn't the same as admitting defeat.”  
“I know. Theoretically at least. We can talk about it next year.”  
The subject turns to work, anecdotes and funny stories from the set and some of the scripts he's been considering while we watch Mihaela play.

After a few minutes Mihaela toddles over and climbs up onto the couch, straight into Sebastian's lap. She raises a tiny finger as she snuggles into the other side of his chest, bringing it to her lips with a dramatic “shhhh.”  
“Is Cristian sleeping?” he says, stifling a chuckle.  
She nods solemnly, her huge blue eyes wide and serious, and I find myself sitting in a scene of utter perfection. I know what's important now, what's worth giving all of your energy to and what needs to just pass me by. Patrick won't ever work in our industry again, there's a long way to go but I know a lot of people's attitudes shifted when he was jailed. Perhaps one day I will be more vocal about it, speak louder and more often, but today I belong here. When I want to go back to work it will be there but right now it's just not a priority; it took me a long time to be ok with that mindset and not worry about where or when my next job would be.

With the lights dimmed in the bedroom I sit against the headboard while Cristian suckles contentedly at my breast, his little fingers opening and closing against my chest. Sebastian and I were finishing up in the kitchen and about to go to bed ourselves when he woke up so Seb has done the rest – bless his mother, she taught him well – before he joins us on our bed. I'm half expecting him to come out with something like 'he's in my spot', but instead he rubs my back and sighs.  
“I honestly don't know how you do it, doll.”  
“Do what? Parent?”  
“All of it. I hate that you're taking care of all this on your own every day while I'm away. I'm exhausted and I've only been here half a day!”  
“I just... do. We have our little routine and we get it done. Please don't feel bad, I don't resent you not being here.”  
“He's really hard work, huh?”  
Right on cue Cristian pulls back and gives Sebastian a huge gummy smile. “Let's just say those smiles have gotten me through a lot of long days,” I say with a laugh. “He's my beautiful little boy, he just doesn't like to sleep. Do you, mister?”  
He smiles and yawns before returning to feeding.  
“Are you really doing ok? You promised to tell me if you weren't.”  
“I really am, babe. I mean it's hard and exhausting but I do love it. Promise.”  
Seb is quiet for a while, watching the two of us while Cristian holds his fingers. His head rests lightly on my shoulder and when he looks back up at me there's moisture in his eyes. “I don't know how to tell you how proud I am of you, how happy you make me. I love all of you so fucking much.”  
“I know. We love you, too.”   
He leans in and kisses me softly until goosebumps prickle my arms. Then he disappears out the door, obviously on some kind of mission.

While I'm delicately setting Cristian down his crib Sebastian darts in and steals the pillows off the bed like some sort of bedroom ninja; I really want to ask but I'm not game to even whisper in case I wake the baby. In the loungeroom I soon find out, though. He's lit the gas fireplace we really only use for ambience in the middle of winter and made a nest of blankets and the thick quilt that used to be in the guest room with our pillows at one end.   
“No expectations, I just wanted us to be able to chill for a bit without waking Cristian,” he says.  
When he went away this time Cristian was just shy of two months old – we only attempted sex once and it didn't end well. Actually I'm fairly sure it ended for Seb in the shower after Cristian woke up for the fifth time and we gave up. He switches off the lights, leaving the room lit by the fire and a row of candles along the mantle, and leads me by the hand to the floor before holding out a glass of red wine. When I start to protest he smiles and winks. “It's non-alcoholic.”  
“Cheers, then.”

For a while we just lie in front of the fire and sip from our glasses, letting the content of being reunited relax us. Lying back on the pillows I watch him tug his t-shirt over his head and reach up to run a hand through his cropped hair. I kind of miss his long locks and there was something about that man bun that turned me to jelly, but I can live with it shorter as well. I love his hair having a mind of its own when it's short, the way he wakes up all scruffy. He kisses me until our tongues are thoroughly reacquainted, his hand creeping beneath my blouse to the ticklish spot on my flank and unfastening my buttons while I trace the contours of his chest with a light fingertip.

When he pulls back to slip the sleeves off I flinch and lay a hand over my stomach.  
“Don't do that. You've never hidden from me.”  
He's right, but I hadn't had two pregnancies in twelve months before. Without touching me he continues removing clothes until we're both naked and I resist the urge to squirm under his heated gaze.   
“Have you forgotten how beautiful you are? Shall I remind you?”  
He doesn't wait for an answer, just kisses down my neck and sweeps his hands down my arms.   
“These arms hold both of our babies, keep them safe and secure. They've rocked them both to sleep, picked up Mihaela when she fell down, held her hand while she learned to walk.”  
My nipples are already painfully hard and I let out a whimper when he kisses both in turn. “You know I've always loved your tits, but they're so much more now. They've nourished our son and daughter, been through hell and cracked and bled, healed again to do it all over. I never had the respect for them that I do now, and you might think they need fixing but I think they're magnificent.” He takes one in his mouth and sucks it between his teeth until I moan, kneading the other side with gentle fingers. Kissing around it in circles he returns every few seconds to lap at the darkened nipple, sending a wave of pleasure straight to my core.

I tense as soon as his fingers circle my navel, his eyes drinking in my torso.  
“These lines,” he says, tracing one of the pink stretch marks on the side of my belly. “Are like warrior's scars and you should be nothing but proud of them. They just show how far your body was prepared to go to safely carry our babies, literally tearing itself to make sure they were cushioned and comfortable. And I love them. Just because your skin is softer doesn't make it less attractive, please believe me when I say you are sexier than ever. Yes, some things have changed since the kids came along, and I have never been so turned on by your naked body, don't you dare try to hide it.” He lies himself on top of me, my legs falling to either side of his thighs, and kisses my mouth again hungrily.  
“Feel that?” he says breathily, grinding his erection against my pelvis. “That's all you. I wish I could make you see what I see.”

Sebastian moves to one side and trails a hand down over my body, widening my legs and tentatively parting my folds with his fingers. He dips into my juices and circles my clit, his lips kissing a path down my neck as I writhe under his touch.   
“God I just want to be inside you,” he whispers, grinding himself against my leg.   
“Do it, then,” I say with a smile, pulling on him until he's back on top of me and his cock presses against my entrance.  
He slowly presses inside my tight pussy and groans with every inch, my walls gripping and drawing him further. His movements are slow and deliberate, punctuated with kisses and nips at my skin and sighs into my ear. Sebastian is an expert at the exquisite torture of the slow build, no amount of begging, pleading, or physical force will alter his pace. I dance on a knife's edge for what feels like hours, his brow furrowed in concentration as he holds back while my nails dig into his skin in desperation, his throbbing cock pushing and dragging over all the right places until I have to bite his shoulder so I don't scream. He withdraws almost completely and shifts the angle, brushing my clit with his shaft on the way in and out, and I immediately start to unravel. My muscles clamp down on him so hard it stops my breath, contractions rippling out until my juices spill onto the sheets. As he kisses me deeply and makes his last few thrusts my legs quiver around his hips and back, my fingers searching for purchase on his sweaty back and neck. With a heaving grunt I feel him spill his warmth inside, his length spasming as it softens and he collapses down on me spent and breathless.

Still basking in the afterglow we lie in bed and I rest my head on his chest, his heartbeat filling my ears and his strong arms around me, pondering the next few weeks together. Everything we've faced the past few years has not only failed to break us but it's made us stronger both individually and together.   
“I have to tell you something. Patrick is being released next week.” I feel his body tense and stroke his shoulder. “It's ok, apparently he plans to live near Houston somewhere and either way he's not allowed to contact me. I've made peace with it.”  
Truthfully my blood ran cold when I got the phone call, but I've come to realise I have to let it go. He's done the time and with his shiny new sex offender label he won't be working in our industry again.  
“How can you even remotely be ok with this?”  
“Because I still won. He was convicted, he went to jail, and I moved on. I got a new perspective, I got stronger, and I got you. I got Lachlan and Mihaela and Cristian. He can't hurt us anymore.”  
It will be a few days before he understands but he holds me tight while I fall asleep in his rock solid arms, knowing nothing can break us now.

When Cristian wakes a couple of hours later Seb leaps out of bed to get him and tries everything he can think of before handing him to me for feeding.   
“Sorry little man,” he whispers, handing him to me while I lift my shirt. “I'm not equipped for that. I'll sit up and keep you company, though.”  
“You don't need to, go back to sleep.”  
“No,” he yawns. “I'm not gonna sleep while you're up, that's not fair.”  
Less than a minute later he's snoring very softly on the pillow beside me and the sleep deprivation doesn't seem so bad as it did yesterday. Never in a million years did I imagine being so happy being a stay-at-home mum, not being the slightest bit envious of Sebastian working when I'm not. I never considered even having step-children, and now I have a gorgeous stepson I dote on as much as my own children and a close relationship with his mother. It's taken me a while to get here, but I don't actually want Sebastian to slow down and I know he'd only be doing it to be home more often.

This is the moment I decide that we'll travel with him next year as much as we can. Happily ever after isn't a 'one size fits all' kind of deal, sometimes you have to make a tuck here and let it out a little there, make alterations along the way for growth and change. Eventually you get it just right and although it looks nothing like the picture in your head it's the perfect fit in every way, until something shifts and further adjustments become necessary. People can look at us and assume we'd change the past if we could, but the truth is our imperfect little family is our piece of perfection. It's less jigsaw puzzle and more random collage, but we fit together. All the pieces of us.

 


End file.
